


Drop Anchor

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bi-Curious Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean, Cuddling, Desert Island, Domestic, Dominant Castiel, Epistolary, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Gardener Castiel, Grumpy Castiel, Hate to Love, Historical, M/M, Masturbation, No Angst, POV Dean Winchester, POV First Person, POV Third Person, Pirate Castiel, Rimming, Romance, Sailor Dean, Sharing a Bed, Shipwreck, Storms, Tickling, Touch-Starved, Virgin Dean, hammock sex, settling down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:26:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3885811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. A sailor and an enemy pirate are marooned on an island together, and while awaiting rescue they accidentally achieve domestic bliss.</p><p>Or:</p><p>Dean Winchester is lieutenant of the Royal Trading Ship <i>Echelon</i>. On a pleasantly sunny but particularly catastrophic day, he is marooned on an island somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with only one man for company. That man is Castiel, captain of the black-sailed <i>Leviathan</i>: a pirate, no less. Given the circumstances under which they are stranded, rescue seems unlikely, and it could be aeons before a ship even comes by. The two of them may as well make the most of their own private island, personal differences be damned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is set in a fictitious Victorian era, but I've taken liberties with the kind of language used. The exact year is intentionally vague.  
>  **Warning** for childhood trauma (not explicit), some internalised homophobia, and mentions of ridiculously impractical lubricant (i.e. do not try this at home).
> 
> Later chapters partially inspired by [garrisonbabe's text post](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/114032619550/garrisonbabe-au-where-dean-looks-over-to-find-cas): au where dean looks over to find cas staring at him and says, “dude fuck me or kill me, but you’ve gotta quit with the staring.”
> 
> A word of thanks to my betas, without whom this fic would be significantly less exciting and most likely a touch out of character. May all your breakfasts be delicious and your hair always be perfect. Amen, and God save the Queen.

The last time we saw sails on the horizon had to be three weeks ago now. Well, technically the last time we saw sails was about fifteen minutes ago, when we tied up a black one to use as a sunshade. But the point is, three weeks ago, the _Leviathan_ went down in a cannonade of splinters and shattering planks, and two survivors watched their only hope of escape disappear from view.

The _Echelon_ and everyone on board – my crew – they must’ve assumed I went down with the _Leviathan_. I’d been kidnapped, after all. You don’t get kidnapped by pirates and then live to tell the tale once said pirate ship takes a trip down to Davy Jones’ locker.

Except I did. Live to tell the tale, I mean. I’m telling it right now.

My name is Dean Winchester, and I’m trapped on an island with the Caribbean’s most notorious asshole.

⚓

_Three Weeks Ago_

“This is not standard practice,” Dean said, a frown as deep as the Mariana Trench drawn on his face. Sweat beaded on his upper lip and he punched it off, dragging another sweep of the oars through the choppy water. “I’m going to get demoted because of this. Because of _you_.”

“You think I care?” Captain Castiel raised a curt eyebrow, glancing back over his shoulder to glare at Dean. “You were useless enough that you needed my help, so to be perfectly blunt, _Lieutenant_ —”

“I didn’t need your help,” Dean interrupted. “I was doing fine on my own.”

“You don’t know that crew, Winchester. They’re ruthless.”

“And so am I.” Dean gritted his teeth and swept the oars through the water again. His shoulders were burning; he was used to giving orders, not doing the legwork. Armwork. Whatever.

Castiel shook his head, eyes locked on the two ships anchored in the water four hundred feet away. One with black sails, one with white. Despite the distance they’d put between themselves and the ships, the sound of cannonfire still struck the muggy air around them, and Dean didn’t think the noise was going to stop until one ship went down. He hoped with every beat of his heart that it wouldn’t be his own ship sitting at the bottom of the ocean before sunset. That way he could be certain someone would come looking for him.

“This is your fault,” Dean muttered. “If you hadn’t decided to rescue me from your own crew, we would still be on that ship right now, fighting along with everyone else. I’d have slit your throat by now.”

“Ha,” Castiel said, without humour.

“You don’t believe me?”

“Let’s just say I think a Lieutenant of the Royal Trading Ship _Echelon_ would get weak-kneed over a dehydrated plant, and would rather tend to that before he turned his mind to murder.”

Dean chewed on his tongue, simmering with a burning-hot fury. “That’s where you pirates have your priorities out of line. Plants are _life_.”

“Gold is life,” Castiel corrected.

“And you know what there’s none of on the _Echelon_? Gold. There’s livestock. Sheep. Chickens. Ripe fruit. Baby trees. Nearly a quarter-ton of plant seeds. We’re not a treasure trove of shiny gems, Captain. We’re a cargo export.”

“What are you intending to do with your cargo once you reach Europe?” Castiel asked, glancing back at Dean again. “Sell it?”

“Half goes to the Queen’s gardens. The other half we sell. Obviously.”

“For gold, I imagine. Because gold is life,” Castiel said smugly, eyes-half shut against the hard beam of the sun. “With enough gold you can do anything you like.”

Dean was about to retort, but his eyes lighted on the _Leviathan_. Even from this distance, when the ship’s deck snapped in two, the sound echoed across the waves. Dean watched as the ship started to sink, black sails sagging. Castiel stopped rowing to watch, and Dean did too.

No matter how much Dean hated pirates, and how much he’d hoped those good-for-nothing black sails folded in on themselves as they were doing now, there was no stopping the heart-thudding terror and panic that came with the sight of a ship going down.

How many would survive? Would any?

“We have to go back,” Dean breathed. “We could tie some of the wood to this ship, build a train raft. Some of them could cling on, we could tow them to land.”

Castiel looked over his shoulder, the same horror in his expression. “They’re pirates, Winchester. You wouldn’t dare to imagine what they were going to do with you if I hadn’t intervened.”

Dean swallowed his first reply, all at once imagining what Castiel dared him to imagine. It wasn’t a pleasant fantasy.

Castiel’s concern turned to fire in his eyes, jaw chewing on his bitter words as he spoke. “I drove my crew to _mutiny_ so you’d be safe. Now I’ve lost my ship, the respect of my crew, my livelihood. I gave _everything_ for you. I won’t allow you to undo that now.”

Breath lost, Dean shook his head. “They may be pirates, and – and cruel ones, at that. But they’re people. They’re still human.”

Castiel seemed ready to argue, but a moment passed, and then something of the hardness in his face seemed to melt away. Dean blinked, wondering what had changed.

“Turn her about,” Castiel instructed, swivelling one oar. “But mark my words, Lieutenant, you will regret this. I can’t protect you forever.”

“I don’t need your protection,” Dean insisted, heaving with the strain of turning the rowboat around. They were working against the tide now, and Dean felt the strength of the waves trying to take them back towards land.

Resisting the pull of both of the tide and the higher likelihood of personal safety had to be one of the hardest things Dean had ever done in his life.

They rowed in silence, both watching the shape of the beach grow smaller. This seemed like such a counterproductive decision to make, but Dean was not the sort of man to let another man drown, even in clear, tropical waters as beautiful as these.

A thought came to Dean’s mind as he saw the first pieces of shattered wood drift past the rowboat. “I’m surprised you don’t care more about your crew. They could be drowning out here, and yet you seem more concerned about me.”

Castiel was quiet. There was a new stiffness to his shoulders, but Dean didn’t know what it meant. “Captain?” Dean asked, a snarky lilt to his voice as he addressed the pirate in front of him.

“‘Care’ is a strong word,” Castiel said eventually. “I don’t _care_. I don’t care about them any more than I care about you. But logic dictates that I make a stand on a deserted island with someone who is less likely to see me as food in the future.”

Dean sucked on his tongue, decidedly glum about that answer.

“Pull in that plank and tie it to something,” Castiel instructed, as a block of thick wood knocked against the hull of the rowboat. “If you see a survivor, throw it to him. I’ll row.”

“Aye, sir,” Dean said, with as much sarcasm as he could muster. Castiel gave him a cold look, but that was all.

They surveyed the wreckage of the _Leviathan_ , and Dean began picking precious cargo out of the water as he saw it. Oranges bobbed about in white froth, apples rolled around on loose planks. Dean hauled in a ripped sail and used it as a net, dragging debris into the boat to sort through.

He started in surprise as he heard a squawk. He looked around, searching for a pirate’s waving hand, but he saw only a chicken, struggling about in the water.

“Aim a little starboard,” Dean called to Castiel.

“Pirate?”

“Poultry.”

Dean plucked the bird out of the water and tossed it under the rowboat seat. The chicken clucked and shook itself down, then started preening.

Dean scanned the water again. He saw tree branches bobbing around here and there, and heard a few sheep bleating for their lives, but Dean frowned when he realised something very significant was missing.

“There’s no people here.”

“That’s because the _Echelon_ is gone,” Castiel said.

“What?” Dean’s head whipped around to look at Castiel. Castiel only tipped his head starboard, his gleaming blue eyes gazing into the distance. Dean’s eyes shot to his right, and he gasped – the _Echelon_ was a good distance away, white sails full of a fresh breeze.

“Where are they going?” Dean yelped, suddenly in a panic. “Hey! Where the _hell_ do you think you’re going?! Hey! HEY!”

“They can’t hear you, Lieutenant,” Castiel said dryly. “We can’t catch up. Even if we followed, and even if they did spot us before the sun goes down, your crew are most likely too preoccupied to go about, what with all the pirates on board. If they were paying attention they’d have come back for their livestock.”

Dean was on his feet, waving madly in the hope someone on board had their telescope pointed at the wreckage. “You assholes! I’m still here! I’m still _here_!”

“They probably assume you went down with the _Leviathan_ ,” Castiel said, setting his oars to rest and reaching for the sopping-wet sail, launching it out to wrangle a panicked sheep. “If all the pirates were on board your ship when this one went down, and you were nowhere to be seen—”

“Quit using your logic on me, Captain, and get me a fire going. I’ll burn this rowboat if I have to! HEY! COME BACK! COME _BACK_!”

“Would you stop? You’re scaring the sheep.”

“I don’t give a damn about the sheep!”

“Well, I do, so unless you’re prepared to starve in the near future, I suggest you sit your perky little buttocks down and help me pull this animal in.”

Dean seethed, but the sight of the _Echelon_ riding a thin tail of white was too real to let him play pretend any more. His ship and his crew was gone, taking the pirates with them.

Dean sat down, mind blanked by shock.

“Dean,” Castiel said. “Pull your weight, or I’ll throw you in. I’d rather a sheep take your space anyway.”

Dean shut his eyes, then opened them again. “When it comes to building shelters and digging sewage pits, I doubt Woolly there will be much help.”

“Then assist me.”

Dean took the other end of the sail, and he pulled, almost tipping the boat. The sheep sculled the water, bleating madly, eyes wide and wild.

“Grab its ears,” Castiel snapped, launching himself halfway into the water to grab the animal’s sodden back. “Pull it in!”

With a roar of exertion, then a second, then a third, with a heavy slosh of sea water, the sheep kicked its way onto the boat, sending the chicken into a fluster.

The sheep stood up, galloping about the small space in an effort to get away from the humans. But there was nowhere to go, and it settled, breathing heavily, waiting with Dean and Castiel for the boat to stop lurching.

The chicken screeched and flapped, wet feathers exploding across the deck. It pattered around in a circle, then went back to preening.

“Good,” Castiel said, out of breath. He picked up his tricorne hat from where he’d left it, snatching it from under the sheep’s trotters. He put the hat on, its triangular brim shading his face, the white feather sprawling damply over one ear. “Now,” he said, catching Dean’s eye, “let’s collect everything we can, and then head back to the island before the sun goes down. I have a feeling we could be stranded for a very long time.”

⚓

Three weeks.

Three. Whole. Weeks.

I’ll put it this way. Imagine everything you’d expect from a remote tropical island. Sunny golden beaches, tall palms that crane out over the swell of the sand. Colourful, long-tailed birds that yap and yodel and sing, flying from palm to palm and in and out of the lush, dripping-wet bamboo rainforest that grows in immense all-day whispers. Frogs that whistle at night, fireflies that tick alight like flickering candle flames.

Sizzling heat. Monkeys stealing your food. Chickens shitting on everything you love. Sheep eating every attempt at a roof you ever make. A hut made of _splinters_. Taking turns to sleep in the hut, keeping watch for ships every other night. Having to share space with the single most irritating person to ever sail the high seas.

It’s not fun. It’s not satisfying, it’s not something I can bear for another second.

And yet I have no other choice. We’re stuck here. By Castiel’s calculations (from what he remembers from all his pirating), unless we can signal a ship in the next few days, there won’t be another ship headed this way for at least another six weeks. So far we’ve seen nothing. I don’t even know if I’ll survive that long.

_Captain_ Castiel is admittedly not too bad with his hands, but there’s only so much ‘Pass me the hammer-rock and another splinter’ and ‘Go and uproot some dinner while I make a fire’ I can take. I’m not second-in-command here, I don’t think he gets that. Pirate ranks and Royal ranks aren’t interchangeable. They’re not even _compatible_. If that man honestly thinks I’m meant to be taking orders from him he’s got another thing coming.

Yeah, it’s taken me three weeks to say anything about it outright, but that’s purely because of the stress of our situation. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the Captain is kind of hard to ignore when he gives instructions. He has a voice like a tiger. Make of that what you will.

Anyway, that’s what I’m dealing with.

It’s Hell.

...Actually, screw that. Hell is probably colder.

⚓

“See that?”

Dean looked up from writing in his journal, shaking out an ache in his hand. “Huh?”

Castiel had his back to Dean and his hands on his hips, loose white shirt billowing in the dense breeze that coasted towards the island. “On the horizon.”

Dean peered into the distance, seeing the piles of grey clouds that were building miles high, rolling in as he watched. Lightning stuck in their cores, snapping light across sections of the sky.

“Shit,” Dean said.

“Two hours until it hits, maybe less,” Castiel estimated. He turned from the beach, bare feet shedding sand. “Help me round up the sheep. We need to get them into the shelter.”

Dean shut his journal and stood. “That shack’s gonna collapse at the first touch of drizzle.”

“That’s why we’ve stockpiled bamboo,” Castiel said, shooting Dean an unimpressed glare. “Help me with the sheep and then we’ll reinforce the walls.”

“Whoa-whoa. Hold on just a minute,” Dean said. Castiel paused and looked back, which was certainly progress. Dean flustered at the eye contact; Castiel didn’t usually hold his eye for more than a second. Now his eyes had locked onto Dean’s, stern and fierce, the sight of crystal-blue irises striking Dean harder than lightning ever could.

“Well?” Castiel asked, squaring his shoulders with Dean’s. He had an impressively straight nose and a stubbled jaw, and he carried a darkness in his face that went beyond the copper tone of his well-sunned skin. Something about him felt ancient.

“Uh,” Dean muttered, dropping his gaze. “I just think w-we should...”

“Chin up, Dean.” Castiel bumped his curled knuckles under Dean’s jaw. “Hold the man’s eye and you’ll own him.”

Dean was breathless by the time Castiel let his fingers fall.

Castiel looked expectant.

“Uh,” Dean huffed. He stood straighter, taking Castiel’s words to heart. He cleared his throat. “Reinforce the shelter first. _Then_ get the sheep. Else they’ll just run off and knock the whole place down on their way out.”

Castiel smirked, just for a second. “Good, Dean.”

Dean blinked, bewildered. Castiel sauntered off, heading for the stacks of bamboo they’d been storing for later.

“Wait, that’s it?” Dean frowned. “‘Good’?”

“I admire your initiative,” Castiel said, taking an armful of bamboo stalks and carrying them to the hut. “Your logic is sound.”

“You and your logic,” Dean said, rolling his eyes as he went to help Castiel. “You ever do anything just for the fun of it? Logic aside?”

Castiel raised an eyebrow, a twinkle in his eye. “Masturbate.”

Dean coughed, nearly dropping his bamboo. “Wh— You, uh.”

“What’s wrong, Dean? Never heard someone say that word aloud?”

Oh, Castiel looked mischievous. Dean sneered. “So what if I haven’t, huh? I grew up in polite company.”

“I dare say you did,” Castiel murmured, his voice only just meeting Dean’s ears as he swept past.

Dean stared after him. A strange, achy feeling churned in his gut. He hated the guy, sure, but there was something enticing about him. Almost exciting.

Dean didn’t know what to make of the feeling, and that was one feeling he wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to understand.

⚓

Rain lashed against the bamboo walls, wind howling through thin gaps in the wood. The sheep clamoured in fear, battling from one side of the shelter to the other, panicked in the near-darkness. The only source of light fluttered in the gusts of air the animals caused, and if that light went out, they’d all be left in a void.

“Secure the filthy beasts or I’ll make them _all_ into mutton,” Castiel bellowed, slamming a hand on the dirt hollow he and Dean had dug the day they set foot on the island. “One more bleat and I’m _through_.”

“Easy, _easy_ ,” Dean said through gritted teeth, standing in a slight crouch, hands outstretched to the sheep that fancied itself the leader. “Trust me, Woolly, you don’t want to be mutton, now, do you? No.”

Castiel scoffed, raising an eyebrow. He sat cross-legged on the low-slung bed hammock, his hands working on the bamboo he’d made into a candle, trying hard to light a second flame. All the wood was wet; the storm had arrived before they were ready, and even once they were inside the shelter, water poured down the walls, trickling onto the sand and making parts of the pit into swamp-like mush.

“That’s it,” Dean said in a hush, breathing out in relief as Woolly and her compatriots settled enough that they no longer bolted at the slightest movement. They still trembled on their thin legs, anxious as anything.

Thunder rolled across the sky like God Himself was playing bowls on the roof. Dean shut his eyes and waited it out, forehead tense with a frown.

“You have a way with animals, you know,” Castiel said, a smirk in his voice. “Part of me is almost pleased I didn’t throw you overboard the first chance I got.”

“Mighty flattered, I’m sure,” Dean said, keeping his voice remarkably steady.

“If you can get them to sing and dance while you’re at it, maybe I might consider letting you stay the night inside.”

Dean’s eyes snapped towards Castiel. “You can’t throw me out! It’s mad out there!”

Castiel paused, eyes lifting from his task with the flames. His mouth was open, but he closed it slowly as he considered Dean. “That was what you might call a _joke_ , Lieutenant,” he said.

Dean looked away, under the pretence of checking on the hens. They clucked, still awake despite it being well past their bedtimes.

“Tell me, Dean,” Castiel said, “are you... afraid of the storm?”

“What! Me, scared of a little rain? No way,” Dean lied. Convincingly, he hoped.

“I see,” Castiel said. His words were nearly drowned out by a roar that practically tore the sky in two, churning Dean’s stomach and putting a hitch in his breath.

Dean could still feel the roll of storm waves below him, his ship’s deck creaking in protest as the sea pulled at the tiny wooden shape. A ship was nothing to the power and magnitude of the ocean. A storm was a mere tickle upon the Earth’s surface, but to a set of sails, a small hull, and a handful of people, a storm could easily mean death. It would be such a meaningless death, too. Set one foot wrong on a slippery deck and no man would stand a chance against the wind or the force of a crashing wave, or even the impossible angle of the ship. Gravity itself could pull a crewman overboard. He was on land now, but the memory of every other storm he’d weathered still haunted him.

Dean shivered despite the humidity and the heat, and he backed himself up against the shelter’s back wall, shutting his eyes. He slid down the wall and sat hunched against it, arms around his knees. It was solid and unmoving; it reassured him. He bent his head down, letting out a soothing breath. Now the sheep were calmer, he had nothing to focus him, nothing to draw his attention away from the monster raging only inches from his back.

Castiel stuck the two bamboo candles into the sand, burying the ends down deep so they wouldn’t fall over. “When I was younger,” he said, running a fingertip through one flame, “I rode out the storms huddled under my father’s desk. I’d—”

His sentence halted there.

Dean looked up properly, seeing the way the flames caught Castiel’s angular face in a flattering yet eerie relief.

Castiel’s eyes met Dean’s, and a smile touched his lips, only for a moment. “Before a storm hit, I’d go looking for our cat, and I’d cradle her to my stomach. She and I wrapped ourselves up in a blanket. The sound of the thunder filled me with – incomparable terror. The cat...” His eyes drifted away. “Deirdre. That was her name. She’d claw my thighs, wanting to escape as much as I did. But there was nowhere to go.” His eyes moved back to Dean’s, and he sighed. “Where is there to go, on a ship?”

“You grew up at sea?”

Castiel lowered his eyes. “A merchant ship.”

“And somehow you became a pirate?”

“Now I’m a shepherd, a cook and a carpenter,” Castiel smiled, tilting his head. “There’s not a lot of plundering to be done on an island without a name.”

Dean blinked slowly, realising that for the minute or so that Castiel had been talking, his paralysing fear had been left forgotten. Of course, upon Dean’s realisation, his awareness came crashing back along with the furious sound of the wind trying its best to tear the shelter out of the ground.

“W-w-w-we-we—” Dean shut his eyes and regained control over his tongue. “W-we should name the island. Right now.”

“Aye, Lieutenant, maybe we should. What name would you suggest?”

Dean blinked hard and fast, trying to think beyond the roar in his ears, the too-fast pounding of his terrified heart. “Deirdre,” he breathed.

When Dean opened his eyes, Castiel was looking at him with an expression that, for a second, looked almost... fond.

“Deirdre it is,” Castiel said, in a soft voice. Dean had never heard him speak so gently.

⚓

Dean woke in a slow, unsteady blink, fingers uncurling from their grip. His bones ached; he’d been hanging tight for what must’ve been hours.

He let out a breath as his eyes focused on the face in front of him. Castiel lay asleep, fractured lines of sunshine cast across his face, mapping the points and curves of his handsome cheeks, his tall lips and his dark eyelashes. He exhaled in his slumber, a murmur sailing on the breath.

Dean could hear the sea lapping at the shore, and he could smell the clearness of the air. The world around him felt lighter now the rain was gone.

Dean closed his eyes again, listening for the sheep. He heard them in the distance, one bleat. They must’ve kicked apart the shelter as soon as the storm broke, and Dean didn’t blame them for wanting to get out of the crowded space. One of the roosters crowed at the seashore, joined soon afterwards by the other two. It probably wasn’t too long after dawn.

Eyes open, Dean rolled onto his side and stretched back across the hammock, groaning when his shoulders clicked in their sockets and blissful relief released from his stiff muscles.

“Hm,” Castiel said, as the shift of the hammock stirred him from sleep. The two men together weighed the hammock to the ground, but there was still a space to let them sway. “Hmmh—? Dean?”

“I’m here,” Dean sighed, relaxing back with one leg crooked upward. As the hammock rocked to a halt, he stared at the water-pale sky through the gaping holes in the ceiling, where the roof had collapsed and the structure of the whole shelter had come apart. They lay in the wreckage, and Dean looked out towards the sea, spying the sunrise in all its magnificence. Pink radiance spread like fingers across the whole sky, the light broken by a group of sea birds that flashed across the orb of the sun.

Dean shut his eyes and enjoyed the warmth.

“I don’t r’member you asking if you could join me,” Castiel drawled sleepily, rolling onto his front and making the hammock swing again. Dean hadn’t bothered to hide the erection tenting his breeches, but Castiel perhaps wasn’t so comfortable.

“Sorry, Cap,” Dean muttered, eyes still watching the sun as it rose. “It was either bunk with you or sleep with the sheep.”

Castiel rolled himself out of the hammock and set his bare feet to the dirt before standing, shoving part of the collapsed roof out of his way before it could hit his head. “Next time, you sleep with the sheep,” he said curtly, and stepped over Dean and the hammock to leave.

“Hey— Hey! Cas!”

Castiel paused in what was once the entryway, his slender form silhouetted by the dawn. He looked back, contemplating Dean and what Dean knew was his most pleading expression.

“Look, I didn’t mean anything by it,” Dean said, with genuine feeling. Despite his reluctance, he forced himself to speak the truth. “I just didn’t want to deal with the storm alone, okay? You fell asleep and I... I couldn’t...”

Castiel waited a few beats before he parted his lips to reply. And his words were soft as they’d been last night when they’d named their island, their home. “I know,” he said.

He left, and Dean’s face washed over in gold, bathed in the heat of the sunrise again.


	2. Chapter 2

I have to keep reminding myself he’s a pirate. Pirates are bad people. They’re thieves, they’re pillagers and plunderers. They’re wild like horses, and they don’t know the meaning of the words ‘fair play’.

Except Cas isn’t like that. The only reason I’ll admit this is because I know he wouldn’t try and read my journal – and that’s part of the whole dilemma. He’s _nice_. I hate it.

I’m starting to think the only reason I despised him so much in the first place was because his crewmates singled me out as ‘the pretty one’ and dragged me to their ship before pinching everything in our hull and taking it for their own. Castiel was the one who rescued me. He saved me from a fate I’d rather not dwell on. Let’s just say, if he hadn’t intervened, going down with the _Leviathan_ might’ve been the sweeter end.

I feel a discomfort deep in my gut as I write this. On the one hand I suspect he could be manipulating me into thinking he’s kind, but on the other hand, not _once_ has he done anything to harm me, nor shown any signs of wanting to. He gave me the third mango this morning because he knows I like them. Just the memory of him handing it to me makes my toes curl.

Actually, there’s something else...

I’m not sure how to say this. It’s taken me minutes and minutes of thinking and pulling at my hair and tapping my pen and I still don’t know how to say this. I’ll just say it outright and pretend it won’t make me cringe if I ever re-read this page.

I think I want to marry him.

No— No, that’s not it. That’s too bold. Oh, I’m already blushing. I want to cross that out and start over but I’ve wasted enough time debating this and I need to go and catch some fish or we won’t have any dinner this evening.

I want to kiss him. I want to touch his face and see if it bristles like mine does. I keep looking at his thighs and wondering how long it’ll be until the fabric on his breeches wears away and I’ll be able to see his skin. I like how his sweat smells. I keep fantasising about walking into the forest and seeing him while he’s bathing. And then he’ll ask me to join him (to save rainwater) and he’ll take my clothes off and help me wash and I’ll get an erection and he’ll tell me there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, and I’ll look down and he’s got an erection too because he likes me as well.

Maybe I’m crazy. Well, I _know_ I’m crazy. Men aren’t meant to feel these things about anyone other than their wives. But I never married, and I never wanted to until now. Maybe I never married because I’m not the same as the other men on the _Echelon_. Maybe I’m half woman. Maybe that’s why my eyelashes curl and my lips are so pink all the time. Maybe that’s why I want to try sleeping in his hammock again like that night when it was stormy. I dream about that night sometimes.

I don’t know what to do. I need to get off this island, I’m losing my mind here. I’m not myself any more.

...But that feels like a lie. I’m lying to myself and I don’t know why. The truth...

The truth is I don’t feel crazy. I feel good. I feel like this is where I’m meant to be, and the way I feel about Cas is totally natural for me. It feels like a relief, like I’ve needed this to be whole, and I hadn’t experienced this part of myself until now. I’m not half woman, that’s just something the men on my ship would’ve said to me if they ever found out I thought they were handsome too.

Castiel makes my heart feel fluttery, and I love it. I love _him_.

God, I’m so glad he doesn’t pry when he sees me write in this thing.

⚓

“Dean.” A whisper. “Dean, wake up.”

“Mhh?”

Dean felt someone shaking his thigh, the strong grip of a hand. For a second his skin flared hot, thinking Castiel was going to curl up behind him and hold him, but the fantasy dissipated as Dean saw the twinkle of moonlight in Castiel’s eyes, and the grin on his lips.

“What is it?” Dean murmured, rolling towards the Captain.

“The first bloom.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “What? But it’s the middle of the night!”

“It’s only a few minutes until dawn,” Castiel corrected, standing up and brushing sand from his knees. He held out a hand to Dean, offering to pull him up to his feet. Dean took his hand and let Castiel’s strength lift him. “The moment the light hits, I want to watch the bud open. Quickly, I don’t want you to miss it.”

Dean chuckled, reaching for his sandals. His shirt was tattered these days, and one sleeve flapped around his elbow as he shoved his feet into the shoes Castiel had made him.

“Hurry, Dean,” Castiel said, beckoning with a hand. “I can already see the light on the horizon.”

Dean reached to take Castiel’s hand – he panicked for a second; did Castiel mean for him to hold on? – but the panic passed as Castiel accepted the grip and turned away to lead Dean towards the forest.

They jogged past the chickens’ egg-laying hut and the sun shelter for the sheep, then the bamboo tank the size of a man, filled almost to the brim with rainwater. Dean stumbled on, thinking about what a momentous occasion this morning was.

Right on the edge of the forest, where the sand turned to a scuffled border of grass, then saplings, then taller trees which reached for the sky, there was a small garden.

“It’s the potatoes,” Castiel said, hopping down into the lower level where the sand had been cleared away. He let go of Dean’s hand and walked toe-to-heel along the rows of crops, his bare feet skimming a well-trodden path. “Soon we’ll be able to make all sorts of new foods.”

Dean grinned, sitting himself down on the edge of the garden pit, hands clasped between his knees. “Now you can say you’re a gardener as well as a cook, a carpenter, a shoemaker and a shepherd. Nearly two months in this place, and you’re already more accomplished than half the recruits in the Royal Fleet. Me included.”

Castiel glanced over his shoulder, smirking. He looked relaxed, his posture languid. “You may not think yourself accomplished, but after two months here, you’re happier than you ever could’ve been aboard that ship of yours.”

Dean lowered his eyes, a frown denting the skin between his eyebrows. “How do you know that? Seems a little presumptuous.”

“Forgive me, Dean, but you don’t seem like a sad man.” Castiel stepped over the carrots and around the tomatoes and sat himself beside Dean, bumping their feet together on purpose. “What is there to worry about there? Sheep and chickens?” He shook his head. “Sometimes, I imagine...” He grinned, eyes down to his hands as he spread them over the ragged black cloth on his knees. “I imagine this is what Heaven is like. There’s so much life here.”

“I thought gold was life.”

Castiel chuckled, mouth closed. He waited a moment before he replied. “Plants are life.”

Dean cackled and kicked Castiel’s calf with his own, leaning back on his hands. He wanted to reply but he had nothing to say; he merely gazed at Castiel with an affectionate smile on his lips.

Castiel met his eye, then sighed, shoulders slumping. “I’m happy here.”

Dean swallowed, looking away. He kept smiling, but couldn’t agree with Castiel aloud, because Dean didn’t want to reveal his own comfort. The moment he admitted to Castiel he fell asleep on every night watch not because he was tired from the day, but because he had no intention of leaving this island, everything could fall apart. Dean still worried Castiel was waiting for a moment to strike, to become the pirate he once was.

Castiel was still watching Dean.

Dean swallowed. “Cas, either fuck me or kill me, but you gotta quit with the staring.”

Breath rushed from Castiel’s mouth, and at first Dean thought he was laughing, but upon glancing up to check, Dean saw the surprise on Castiel’s face.

“I didn’t realise it bothered you when I looked at you,” Castiel said, his voice as quiet as the sea lapping at the shore.

Dean breathed out, feeling like he had no breath to lose anyway. “It— It doesn’t,” he stammered. “It doesn’t bother me when you look at me like that. I was just – messin’ around.”

Castiel frowned; he didn’t know what to make of Dean’s utterance, and frankly neither did Dean.

A velvet dawn tinged in lilac spread through the sky like ink dropped in water; Dean saw golden light touch Castiel’s eyes and fill them with pale fire. Dean gasped and turned to the garden before them, quickly seeking out the first bloom. “There,” he said, gesturing with a forward tip of his head. “The fruits of your labour.”

“Oh,” Castiel sighed. “Beautiful. They’re glad to see the sun.”

Dean felt his eyes crinkling with a long-awaited joy, seeing the buds of the potato plants shake back their leaves and begin to fold out their petals. It would be some time before they were open completely, but right now, their purple shade matched the sky, and Dean had never seen anything else which filled him with as much hope.

Save, perhaps, the sight of Castiel sliding his hand over Dean’s, holding it close as they watched the sun coax the flowers to life.

⚓

We sat watching the sun rise, and he told me about his time aboard the merchant ship. I think I understand him better now.

He was taken as a child by the pirates. Captured and kidnapped like I was, but he was only small. Even though the pirates raised him, fed him, clothed him, all the while teasing him, using him as extra labour – and most of all, teaching him their ways – he couldn’t trust them, and quite right too. They’d killed his parents.

Rian Browne and his wife, Viona Browne, co-captains of the merchant ship _Melvyn_. Cas remembers their cat better than he remembers them. They were Irish, but Castiel speaks like I do, with an American accent. I never would’ve guessed where he came from had he not told me. He doesn’t remember his name from that time, either. The pirates called him Castiel and that’s his name now.

I told him it was a beautiful name, and it suits him, and I stroked his hand. I still can’t believe we were holding hands while talking like that. I can’t figure out what he meant by it.

I suspect he only thinks of me as a friend. After two months you’re bound to need human contact – you can only hug a sheep for so long before it kicks you in the privates and bolts at full speed towards the chicken hut. I’m glad he and I never needed to talk about holding hands, anyway. I’d like if that became a regular activity, just to sit together and share physical contact. Even if he doesn’t return my romantic feelings (that is, if he ever were to find out), I’d be happy to offer comfort and friendship. I probably crave that as much as he does.

Point is, I believe his story. I can’t find any decent reason to think badly of him any more. I think it’s time I began to trust him.

Funny thing is, though, I don’t think there was ever a time he didn’t trust _me_.

⚓

Dean heaved the basket of firewood up onto his back, tilting his head to wipe sweat on his shoulder. There was barely anything of his shirt left now – after three months wearing nothing else, it was a stained, ripped rag, barely worth putting on in the morning. One of these days he’d be going topless. The thought made him as anxious as it did excited; Castiel had never seen him without clothes, just as Dean had never seen Castiel without clothes, which was really quite a feat, given they spent nearly every waking moment together, most days.

Dean’s head was full of vague thoughts as he carried the wood out of the rainforest and back towards their bamboo hut. The shelter had two levels now, and this week they were going to work on the basement, so they’d have somewhere bigger to store their food where the flies couldn’t get at it.

Dean grunted as he dumped the firewood on the sandy beach, directly in the ring of stones they often used as a fire pit. Tonight’s dinner would be grilled tuna with a garnish of salted tomato, yet another experimental dish from the outdoor kitchen of Deirdre’s finest chef.

No matter how good a cook Dean fancied himself, Castiel was better. His dishes seemed effortless, somehow. Fewer ingredients, shorter preparation times. The pirates on board the _Leviathan_ had never known what they were missing, as their best cook had been busy plotting courses and steering the ship.

Dean traipsed back to the forest with the empty basket slung over his shoulder. He could feel the sweat pouring down his back. The sun was relentless, scalding the side of his scruffy face as he made his way across the sand.

He could do with a wash, actually. At the very least, he could take a stroll through the forest, where the shade was deepest and coolest, and the birds chirped in melodies that seemed to echo off the trees, always conjuring up a sense of serenity, calm and peacefulness.

Dean tossed the basket at the edge of the forest, stepping onto the path his and Castiel’s feet had carved by weeks of going in and out to collect water.

Dean whistled as he walked, mimicking the tropical birds, hearing the parrots mimic him back. He grinned, and added a trill to his notes.

He approached the second water tower they’d built, peering ahead at its looming shadow. Ropes and parts of old sails were tied from tree to tree, splayed out high up to catch the water as it fell. All the webs led back to the top of the tub, where the water collected. Dean rapped his knuckles on the bamboo as he passed, and smiled when he heard the sound of water inside, a deep, resounding wobble. They had enough for another three weeks at least, and they were due for rain before then.

Paradise, Dean thought. Resources were plentiful, the view was exquisite, the company was decent. Boredom was hard to come by.

Heading around the tank, Dean paused to remove his white shirt. One more wash and he’d give it up for scraps.

He was mid-way through unbuckling his belt when he heard the sound of a whistle. It wasn’t a parrot, either – Castiel was on the other side of the tank. Castiel whistled a tune, and Dean grinned. He whistled back.

Castiel whistled again, starting the second verse of that sea shanty he always forgot the words to. Dean resumed his walk, fingers dragging over each bump of thick bamboo as he circled the tub. Whistling, waiting for a response, then whistling another line.

Castiel laughed, a friendly chuckle.

Dean rounded the last curve of the tank to see him, but he saw him and he stopped dead.

Castiel shook water out of his hair, still grinning as he ran his hands back though his dark locks. He whistled up into the air, eyes shut.

He was stark naked, bathing under a steady gush of water from the tank. Dean lost all self-control and looked where he was not supposed to look. Castiel had dense black hair between the tops of his thighs, a thick, dark-skinned penis, and a stomach as flat as a board.

Castiel whistled again, still waiting for a response.

At that moment, Dean realised Castiel had mistaken his replying whistles for that of a parrot.

“Shit,” Dean breathed.

Castiel opened his eyes, startled.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, pleading right away, hands out. “I came back here and didn’t realise you were—” His eyes lowered again and then shot up to the sky, guilty for looking. “God! Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“Dean, it’s all right,” Castiel said hastily, glancing to Dean, then reaching for the hollow bamboo stick that served as a faucet. He tilted it upwards to cut off the flow of the water. With a hand passed over his face, he brushed water from his eyelashes. “Would you believe I thought you were a parrot?”

Dean coughed out a nervous laugh, backing up a step. “Yeah. Look, I uh— I gotta—” He thumbed back the way he’d come. “Y-You, um. Carry on. Just act like I was never here, I’ll come back when you’re done!” He stumbled past the tank and kicked himself into a jog, feeling like he’d been spooked out of his skin. “You whistle good!” he shouted, then sprinted off back to the beach as fast as he could.

Damn.

Damn damn _damn_.

To make matters worse, it was getting harder to run when he was getting – well, _harder_.

“Fuck,” Dean whined, staggering past the garden with his hand crammed between his legs, forced to hobble. It wasn’t helping, the movement of his legs was creating too much friction. He wasn’t going to make it to the shore before he came in his pants.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean whispered, falling against the main shelter and shoving his hand into his breeches. He sighed in relief as heat filled his palm, fattening at the touch of his fingers.

Dean moaned, bowing his head and leaning forward against the outside wall, his body hidden in the shade. His skin blazed with heat, furious with panic and shame and excitement, revisiting what he’d seen in his head in a thousand colours, all a vivid as a parrot’s wings or Castiel’s garden when the plants were in full bloom.

Dean pulled his erection out of his breeches and started working himself stiff, hand gripped hard like he was standing ready to spear a fish, sweating and panting like he’d been digging up sand for an hour. He did nothing to quiet his moans, they were blissful to let go of. Hell, he felt like he’d been holding these moans in for months.

It was incredible he’d staved off this long, not touching himself at the thought of Castiel for fear that it would solidify a theory that had been building ever since Dean was a young man.

His hand shifted too-sensitive skin so fast all Dean saw was a blur, all he felt was a savage and all-consuming pleasure, mounting inside him, becoming more unbearable by the second.

“Cas,” Dean breathed, frowning so hard it hurt, head down against the bamboo. “Ohh—”

He hadn’t given a thought to how long he would last, but apparently his stamina was sub-par. He gasped as he came against the wall, a messy white spurt catching on his hand and drooling off onto the sand.

He panted as he watched himself push the final few droplets free, his fist tight, his erection throbbing with both satisfaction and unsatisfied need. With this one forbidden touch, he’d opened the floodgates. Now there was no going back: Dean wanted Castiel more than ever.

⚓

Dean remained quiet while Castiel cooked their dinner. He wrote in his journal and he dared not look up, worried that the firelight might illuminate his blush. He felt like he’d been blushing non-stop for hours. He was so sure that sort of physical failing had been set to rest once he became an adult; when he was younger, girls always made him blush. Now, apparently, Castiel did.

The fire spat and sizzled, guzzling up the drips from the fish Castiel spun on a stick. Dean breathed deeply, awaiting their meal with anticipation. With the smell of the sea and the smell of the food combining on his tongue, he almost forgot for a moment that Castiel was staring at him.

“What do you write in there?” Castiel asked, speaking for the first time since the sun went down. “You’re always writing.”

Dean glanced up. “You’ve never looked?”

Castiel smiled. “I’ve never looked, Dean. I may have been a pirate but I was an innocent child before then.” His smile became a little strained as he added, “I know what it’s like to have someone take something precious from you without asking.”

Dean gulped, setting his pen between the pages and shutting the journal. “When you were on board the _Leviathan_ , did you ever keep a ship’s log?”

“I did,” Castiel said. “It was bound exactly like that one, if memory serves me right.”

Dean smirked. “Yeah. This one washed up ashore the day after we did. It was probably yours. Ink’s gone, washed out by the sea.”

Castiel’s eyebrows lifted, then settled. “There was nothing remarkable in there. I’m sure the pages have been put to better use now.”

Dean’s smile pulled at the corners of his lips but he couldn’t smile as widely as he wanted to. “If you saw this, I don’t think you’d agree. Everything I write, it’s... mediocre. Mundane.”

“Oh, come now, Dean. I have no doubt you’ve catalogued a few sensational tidbits.”

“Nah,” Dean shook his head. “It’s just crap.”

“Try me,” Castiel said, offering Dean the first serving, a sliver of perfectly-roasted fish, presented along with darkened fruit, one edge encrusted with salt. “I’ll swap you food for a quote.”

Dean’s mouth watered, and he took the food automatically. It was only afterwards, upon seeing the anticipation on Castiel’s face, that Dean realised he’d accepted the bribe.

“Ah, shoot,” Dean murmured, grinning down at his journal. He ran a hand over the leather cover, biting the fish while he mulled over which chapters would be least revealing. Flavour burst in his mouth, and he sighed.

“All right, gimme a minute to pick somethin’,” he said, sliding a chunk of salted mango into his mouth while he flipped to a good page.

“Stop there,” Castiel said.

“What?”

“Stop turning the page and just read me what’s open now.”

“No, I have to find a good one!”

“I don’t want a good one, I want an average one,” Castiel said, plucking his own meal out of the fire. He got up and walked bare-footed around the fire pit, bending to sit on Dean’s left, hunched forward against his knees. He smelled of fire smoke, and of sea water. Dean’s heart beat faster.

“There,” Castiel said, slapping a hand on Dean’s hand, keeping him from turning another page. “Read me that.”

“I – I can’t just—”

Castiel leaned closer, trying to read over Dean’s shoulder. Dean craned away, reaching to bite his fish as he did. “Gerroff,” Dean said with his mouth full. He chewed on one side, one cheek bulging. “Fine, asshat, I’ll read it. Just gimme some breathing room.”

Castiel sat back smugly, crossing his legs and waiting for Dean to start.

“Ugh.” Dean ate another mouthful, then began. “ _Today we put up the flag at the top of Deirdre’s highest peak, which – according to Captain Geographical Accuracy – is approximately twenty feet above sea level. If we ever get hit by a tsunami we’ll be underwater. Here’s guessing there’s not much point preparing for that, since we’re going to die on this godforsaken island anyway. As far as I’m concerned, tsunami is still a better way to go than death by pirate._ ”

Castiel laughed, lying back on the sand and picking at his dinner. “I always suspected.”

“Suspected what?” Dean asked over his shoulder, feeling his ears burning with embarrassment.

“That you were scared of me,” Castiel said nonchalantly.

“Was not,” Dean harrumphed, chewing another bit of mango off his stick. “Look, that wasn’t a good one. Let me get a better one.”

Castiel leaned forward suddenly and again stopped Dean from turning the page. “Let me pick?”

“No,” Dean said, snatching the journal back. “There’s— There’s private stuff in here.”

“What sort of private stuff?”

“Just stuff! Thoughts and feelings, crap like that.”

Castiel withdrew his hand, letting Dean carry on flipping pages. He was quiet for a bit, then took a sudden breath. Dean glanced at him, and saw the light of the fire flutter in his eyes. A question went unasked, Dean could see it there.

“What?” Dean prompted.

“Nothing,” Castiel said, lowering his eyes. That surprised Dean; Castiel had never shown himself to be demure in any way at all, he was always forthright and demanding.

Dean settled his hands, holding his food and keeping the journal open, waiting for Castiel to speak.

“It’s just,” Castiel started, eyes lifting to the galaxy of lights that speckled the night sky, the tip of his tongue poking out to wet his lips. “You and I share every experience here. We planted that flag together, we built our shelter together. We discovered this new way of life side-by-side. I think the only reason you don’t want me to see what you’ve written about our time here is because you’ve been writing about _me_.”

Dean shut his eyes, head down. How was he meant to respond in a way that wasn’t confirmation?

“It’s fine if it’s true, Dean,” Castiel said quietly. “If I had a journal I’d write about you, too.”

Dean swallowed, staring at Castiel’s toes. They curled into the sand, perhaps out of nervousness.

For a couple of minutes, they ate in silence. It was a thoughtful and speculative silence. The waves of the sea rolled up on the beach, stayed for a moment, then released back into the mass of dark water that engulfed the space from here to the horizon. It was like the Earth was breathing.

Then, Castiel’s quiet voice broke the ambience. “Read me one more,” he said gently. “A ‘good’ one. Something... recent.”

If that wasn’t a request for Dean to reveal his present feelings, Dean didn’t know what it was.

Dean took the last mouthful of his dinner into his mouth, the tossed the burned skewer into the fire. He chewed, thinking. Could he afford to let Castiel know how he felt? If he didn’t say it now, would he get another chance as straightforward as this?

Castiel finished his own food, then reached over Dean’s lap to throw his own skewer in the fire. He brushed close to Dean’s chest, his face turned so he could meet Dean’s eye as he pulled back. Was that a sultry shade in his eye, or was Dean imagining it?

“Please, Dean,” Castiel said. “Read me something.”

That was the first time Dean had heard him say ‘please’ without even the tiniest hint of sarcasm.

Dean smirked. “Well, since you asked nicely.”

Castiel’s eyes twinkled, and he sat in wait.

Dean flipped a few pages nearer to the middle of the book. Part of him wondered what he was going to read, another part wondered what he was going to write in the future. The pages in the journal were nowhere near filled, and there was space for a good many years to come.

He spread his hand over a page from this week, tilting it towards the fire so he could see the cursive scrawl of his handwriting. His heartbeat pumped in his throat as he reviewed what he’d written.

“You don’t have to,” Castiel said.

Dean shut his eyes for a moment, then let out a breath and set his gaze determinedly on the journal. “I want to.”

He cleared his throat. But, before he began, Dean warned, “Cas... Listen... Don’t judge me for this. Please.”

“I wouldn’t,” Castiel assured him.

“Let me get through it, and you can react all you want after.”

“Fine.”

Dean swallowed. He brushed his sweaty palms against his thighs, then licked his lips and started to read aloud. “I – _I wish he would touch me. He pats my back sometimes, puts his hand on my shoulder. Every time I feel like I’ve been stung. The way you get when your head’s been hurting for days and then you run your hand back through your hair, change how it lays against your head, and it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt. When he puts his hand on me, I feel that._ ”

Dean noticed Castiel’s breathing had turned shallow, but Dean wasn’t done reading, and he didn’t want to stutter so he blocked out his awareness of Castiel with his mind and carried on.

“ _Elsewhere in the world, the seasons have changed. It maybe feels cooler here, but it doesn’t feel like winter. The sun can still peel my skin raw if I stay out too long; the mangos are still ripe. I keep thinking about winter back on the mainland. Christmas celebrations would be coming up. Sammy would’ve hugged me, Jess would’ve hugged me, Charlie and Bobby too. Cas has never hugged me. I don’t know whether I’m craving that because I miss my family or because I—_ ” Dean cut himself off before he read the end of the sentence. He replaced it with an improvised, slightly less revealing ending: “—because I care about him.”

There was more on the page, but Dean figured he’d given away enough. His hands shook, still sweating. He swallowed twice, waiting for Castiel to say something.

Castiel said nothing. He reached closer and took the journal out of Dean’s hands, turning at the waist to set it aside in the sand, away from the fire. He then turned back to Dean and put his open hands on his shoulders, both at once. Dean gasped, all at once light-headed as Castiel guided him back to lie on the sloped sand.

“Cas, what are you doing?” Dean breathed, even though it was obvious. An intensity was present in Castiel’s eyes, the same ferociousness Dean had encountered when they first met, when Castiel raised his cutlass and stood between Dean and the other pirates, a snarl on his face. Only, this time, the look in his eyes was tender.

Castiel pressed himself against Dean, chest to his bicep, a thigh thrown over Dean’s. Dean’s breath failed him as Castiel ran his fingers against Dean’s cheek, bristling his facial hair. A grin fluttered over Castiel’s lips, showing a flash of his teeth. His eyes roamed Dean’s face, soft on his hairline, hungry on his lips.

“I’ve craved this,” Castiel confessed, his voice barely a whisper. “Dean, I’ve been as desperate for contact as you have, it’s almost like I’ve been starving. Every day we have more than enough to eat and yet I—”

“Still feel empty,” Dean finished. His eyes settled on Castiel’s lips, then lifted to his eyes, aching to see that sweetness again. He’d never seen Castiel act so patiently. Here he was, practically holding Dean down, asking to be touched, and yet he hadn’t taken what he wanted. If Dean were food, he’d have been devoured by now.

Castiel set his hand on Dean’s heart, fingers curling to tug at what was left of his shirt. “Your heartbeat...”

Dean reached to wrap his fingers around Castiel’s wrist, eyes widening as he felt Castiel’s heartbeat too. A sense of connection and unexpected intimacy overtook Dean, and his cheeks started to flush. “Cas...”

Castiel lowered his eyes, a small frown on his face. “Let me touch you,” he murmured. “And you touch me.”

“Yes,” Dean said without pause for thought. “Cas, yes.”

Castiel grinned, and Dean was startled by the immediate feeling of hands in his hair, gripping his sun-bleached locks with firm strength, not enough to make his eyes water but enough to strike him with shock, pulling a shout from his throat.

Castiel began to tug at his hair, kneading, massaging. His eyes were dark and his breathing became laboured, his hips working in small circles against Dean’s hip. Dean didn’t know what it meant, or what he was meant to do in return.

“Hold me,” Castiel rasped. “Put your hands on my hips.”

Dean did, and he sighed as Castiel grunted, pushing back to make Dean grip harder.

“Run your hands up my back,” Castiel said, sliding his own hands to support the back of Dean’s neck. “Press hard like you’re trying to pull me into you.”

Dean did as he was told, sparks shooting in every vein as his hands dragged the thin cloth of Castiel’s shirt up along his back, palms moulding to the muscle either side of his spine.

“Ouhh—” Castiel moaned, eyelashes fluttering, a smile bursting over his face. “I could never reach that ache myself... The strength in your hands – oh, perfect.”

Dean chuckled, pulling Castiel’s shoulders closer and pressing his collarbone to Dean’s own cheek. Dean breathed in, eyes sliding closed at the feeling of skin against his face.

Castiel wriggled himself closer, both thighs between Dean’s legs now. He didn’t thrust, as Dean wished he would, but wrenched a hand to Dean’s thigh and _grasped_ it, hard enough to bruise. Dean cried out, in pain, in bliss, feeling Castiel’s weight relieve a pressure that had been lingering throughout his body for too long.

Castiel roared out a groan and rolled both their bodies over so he was flipped onto his back, Dean straddling his hips. Dean felt Castiel’s penis against his buttocks, but was surprised to feel he wasn’t hard, merely a little plump. Dean himself was on his way to throbbing, and felt a sudden shame in realising that Castiel didn’t interpret this activity as sexually as Dean had.

Dean sat unmoving on Castiel’s lap, staring down at his erection and wishing it would go away.

“Ignore it,” Castiel said, sitting up and taking Dean around the waist, holding him close. Heavy breath flowed over Dean’s chest as Castiel huffed on him. “Put your hands around my head, pull my hair like I did for you.”

Dean felt compelled to do as he was asked; Castiel was never easy to disobey.

His reward was a gut-stirring groan of delight from Castiel’s mouth, as well as the rasp of Castiel’s stubble raking against the sensitive skin of Dean’s sternum.

“Oh, Dean, yes,” Castiel moaned. “ _Auhh_ —”

Dean gasped and then nearly _squealed_ as Castiel grasped his back, the webs between his fingers surely bulging with Dean’s skin as he left handprints in white down Dean’s back. Dean began to rock on Castiel’s lap in earnest, eyes losing focus when Castiel took his buttocks in hand, squashing them as if to test their give.

“What else, Dean?” Castiel whispered, the tip of his nose running a searing-hot line behind the bone of Dean’s jaw. “What’s driven you mad all these months, what have you needed?”

Dean bit his lip and gazed up at the stars, trying to control his ragged breaths and keep from pressing his erection against Castiel’s belly. “Honestly?” He grinned, just briefly. “A hug. A plain ol’ arms-around-me hug.”

“Lie on your back and I’ll do it.”

Dean slipped off Castiel’s lap with little grace but great eagerness; he lay back on the sand and opened his arms to Castiel, smiling as Castiel smiled, laughing softly as Castiel pressed close and made to embrace him.

Dean shut his eyes, lifting his lower back so Castiel could slide his hands under. They settled together on the slope, their panting breaths slowly returning to normal.

Dean felt the warmth of the man beside him, so in love with the feeling of arms keeping him still, keeping him close. Close enough to share a heartbeat – that was the best part.

Castiel chuckled again, soft breaths gushing over Dean’s neck.

“What is it?” Dean whispered, fingers running back through Castiel’s hair. “What’s funny?”

“I’ve never done this before,” Castiel muttered.

Dean managed to look down at Castiel’s face, mostly seeing his eyelashes curled up so he could peer back with his beautiful blue eyes, his cheekbones highlighted in orange from the fire behind his head. Dean raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never hugged someone?”

“Not the hug. I mean the... this – this – _passionate_ thing. How would you describe it? If you were writing about what we’re doing now in your journal, what would you call this act?”

“A colossal tease,” Dean said dryly. Castiel scoffed.

“No,” Dean considered the question seriously this time. “I’d call it... Intimacy. Relief. A shared first experience.” His breath hitched, and he tingled with leftover excitement, adding in a murmur, “The best way to satisfy curiosity.”

“Curiosity? About what?”

“Curiosity about... touching. And – men. And... And each other, I guess.”

He’d just confessed his deepest secret to Castiel. There was nobody else in the world who Dean could’ve said those words to and not have to worry he’d be hurt for his candor; Castiel simply held him closer, and Dean chilled with relief for the second time in as many minutes.

It was quiet between them for a minute, each of them breathing slowly and deeply, inhaling the salt of the sea and the tang of the sand beneath their skin, as well as the scent of each other.

Castiel then lifted his head from Dean’s chest, and he gazed into his eyes. “Let’s sleep together tonight. Right here.”

Dean blinked. “You’re okay with that?”

A smirk curved Castiel’s lips on one side. “More than okay.”

He didn’t have to elaborate, but, with an excited flip in his stomach, Dean supposed Castiel had been fantasising about sleeping with Dean ever since that night with the storm. The two of them weren’t so different, really.

“I’d love that,” Dean said.

Castiel hugged Dean harder, and pulled him nearer as he lay back down.

Dean’s erection had faded. Despite the way he and Castiel were interacting tonight, Dean couldn’t fully put aside the knowledge that the love and the lust he was experiencing was not the same as what Castiel was experiencing. Maybe all Castiel wanted was to hug, and he hadn’t considered taking his clothes off to do it.

As Dean and Castiel lay together, waiting for sleep, the feeling of emptiness faded away, the void inside each of them filling with satisfaction instead. But Dean... Dean still felt an ache. Was he ungrateful to want more?

Castiel was many things, but at least he was patient. Dean resolved to mimic him that way, and to wait for something to change, something new to bloom between them. If Castiel simply wasn’t ready yet – or if he would never be ready – Dean would find out eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! Bam! On time! (Let me know how you like the story so far~)


	3. Chapter 3

Cas tickled me today. He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me and he _tickled_ me. I ended up kneeling in the vegetables, giggling until I couldn’t breathe, hands in the dirt as I tried so hard not to weep. I couldn’t squirm away without squashing the precious plants, but deep down I didn’t want to get away. I felt like I hadn’t laughed so hard in years. Maybe I haven’t.

I love what this has become. We’re such great friends, and we touch all the time. We’re unapologetic about it, too. If I want to hold his hand all I have to do is take it, and he’ll cook dinner with one hand without complaining. If I want to pounce on him while we’re fishing, and we roll around in the waves and cling to each other, he doesn’t snap at me because I let all the fish swim away.

And if he wants to tickle me until I’m sure I’m about to wet my pants, I’ll let him. I love the sound he makes when he laughs. And I love that he pulled me up afterwards and asked if I was okay. There were tears down my face but I was grinning so hard all I could do was nod.

We hugged, and he touched my face with his hand, his palm cupping my jaw. His hand was so _warm_.

I watched him go off after that, and I decided I would get my revenge. So when he was taking a shower, I followed him to the tank. My intention was to surprise him and chase him around while he didn’t have any clothes on. It was going well enough. I mean, I got there, I saw him naked, and I didn’t panic – I just froze solid. God, the boys on the _Echelon_ would’ve laughed me all the way back to port if I’d fucked up a prank like that while on board the ship. I saw Cas naked – for the second time ever – and all he did was splash water on me. And _I_ laughed. _He_ was the one who was meant to tickled and laughing until he couldn’t take any more, but it was me again. He grabbed me and he pulled me under the water spout, and he tickled me _again_.

So there I was, soaking wet, kneeling on the rocks and trying to wriggle away from him, and I loved it. I loved it a great deal more than I should’ve. His hands were all over me. The adult in me loved it for the contact, but another part... I felt like a kid again. You grow up and you forget what it’s like to be reduced to giggles, to have your knees made weak and left breathless until you’re gasping for air.

I know I sound ridiculous, and I’m writing like a twelve-year-old with his first crush, but... I don’t know, this feels easy. I figured out that once I stop bothering to feel self-conscious when I write, my future self actually appreciates my past self's openness. I like re-reading old entries, and I always feel better for being honest, and putting all the details in that seem important at the time, even if they’re embarrassing. I have to force myself to admit things, sometimes. But, at that later time, I’m usually more comfortable with things I was worried about before. Now I think about it, forcing my feelings onto the page _helps_ me feel less anxious and less shamed. I write with a stream of consciousness, and I don’t want to bother with trying to sound grown up or intelligent, I just want to get the point across and put all the emotion in.

Like when I write about Cas, for instance. He makes me so happy. A season ago I would’ve blamed my feelings on the heat, or this whole situation, but right here and right now, all I know for certain is that Castiel makes me _happy_. The only way my life could be better right now is if Sam and Jess and the others were here. Maybe if they brought a pie.

Actually, on the subject of pastry – our corn crop is almost ready for harvest, so we’ll have a way to make dough soon. Cas says he knows how to make cake, so I’m looking forward to that.

Tomorrow I’m going to tickle Castiel senseless, mark my words. If I can pull his shirt off and rub his stomach with my facial hair, even better.

⚓

At Deirdre's highest peak, there was a clearing. In the centre of the clearing, there grew a tree. It was a gnarled, twisted thing, its trunk a black wood, its branches angular and elongated, with leaves that spread horizontally in clumps like green clouds. It was the single most remarkable plant on the island, largely because – unlike a palm tree – it could take the weight of a full-grown man and be totally forgiving about it.

Dean sat on one of its crooked branches, listening to the waves in the distance. He was some way from the shore; the island’s peak was only twenty feet high, but once he was in the tree, Dean felt like he could see the whole world.

On the horizon was a ship with white sails. It had been drifting from right to left over the past half-hour or so, and Dean had kept his eye on it ever since he spotted it from the house.

If he signalled that ship, they could be off the island and en route for the mainland before sundown. Dean stared and stared but couldn’t bring himself to set the tree alight. It was the most obvious way to send a signal: burn the leaves, and the smoke would be seen even if the island itself was out of view. With the barren space around the tree already present, where the shade kept anything else from growing, the rest of the plants and animals on the island would survive the fire. Only, Dean didn’t have the willpower to burn a single leaf.

“There you are,” said Castiel, making Dean jump. He gripped the tree branch hard, lurching himself steady.

“Cas!” he snapped, glaring behind him and over his shoulder, seeing Castiel’s figure staring up at him from five feet below. “You almost made me fall.”

“And what is it that held you so utterly captivated that you didn’t hear me calling you?” Castiel asked, one eyebrow raised.

Dean looked back to the sea, heart pounding. The ship was making steady progress, but it was not yet out of sight. “Nothing,” Dean said, no tone in his voice. He looked back down at Castiel. “It’s a nice day, I was just enjoying the view.”

Castiel’s raised eyebrow was joined by the other, then both sank down. His shoulders slumped as he sighed. “You saw it too, didn’t you.” He didn’t mean it as a question.

Dean fidgeted. “I... don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, don’t give me that, Dean. Come down here.”

“No,” Dean said.

Castiel huffed. “I’m not talking to you while you’re in the tree.”

“I’m not letting you burn it,” Dean said. “This thing is probably older than you and me and all our parents and siblings put together, and I’m not about to let it go up in flames for the sake of us getting off the island. I’m staying put until that ship is so far away that the people on board wouldn’t notice if a sea monster popped up out of the depths and swallowed this island whole.”

Castiel’s eyebrows went up again. “You think that’s why I came up here? To burn the tree?”

Dean squinted. “Isn’t it?”

“I came up here to ask if you wanted sautéed seaweed for dinner again. I have onions and I have crab, I’m just trying to figure out whether or not you would turn your nose up at it this time.”

Dean’s mouth hung open slightly. “Aaaah... Seaweed is... fine.”

“Good,” Castiel said, business-like. He squared his shoulders like he was about to walk off back through the bamboo forest, but he hesitated, then stayed. He peered up at Dean with a new softness in his eyes. “You won’t start a fire while I’m gone?”

Dean shook his head.

Castiel smiled in relief, then shifted himself around and started back down the hill.

“Cas,” Dean breathed. He grabbed the trunk of the tree and slung a bare foot onto a bark ridge, then set his weight down and swung back to the ground. “Cas!”

Dean scuffed his heels in the ground dirt as he hurried to catch up with Castiel, fingers knocking bamboo stalks along the way.

Dean skidded past Castiel and halted at the base of the hill, panting for breath. Castiel gave him a curious stare, walking past as calmly as ever.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Dean started, “but wasn’t the idea to get off the island as fast as possible? That ship... That _ship_ is the first ship we’ve seen since the day we got here. Who knows when the next one will be?”

“Based on the average, I suspect the next one would come along in five months, two days, and twenty-one hours,” Castiel said, taking the lead as he wove between the bamboo. Shattered sunlight grazed over his tanned shoulders, gleaming in white where it touched the ropes of fabric that were all that remained of his shirt.

“You’re willing to spend another five months here,” Dean said, nearly jogging to keep up. “With me?”

Castiel stopped at the border between forest and beach. He spun on his heels and faced Dean, one hand out to poke a finger at his chest. “Correct me if I’m wrong – but wasn’t it _you_ who was up in that tree, determined to protect it from its fate as a fire beacon?”

“I—” Dean shrugged. “It’s a good tree. Seems a waste to let it go up in flames.”

“A waste,” Castiel echoed, eyes narrowing. “I see. That’s what you’re telling yourself, is it?”

Dean could’ve argued, pretended this was about something it wasn’t. But there was little use in lying to Castiel, not when he already knew the truth. “Cas...” A tiny grin twitched on one side of Dean’s lips. He sighed. “Ah, let’s face it. I don’t want to leave Deirdre any more than you do.”

Castiel lowered his accusing finger. Dean thought he was going to say something standoffish and at the same time affectionate, but instead he said nothing. However, there was a warmth in his eyes, and the most subtle of smirks grew to wrinkle the skin either side of his mouth.

He turned and made his way onto the sand, his eyes trained on the white dot miles out to sea.

Dean ran after him. “So it’s true. You don’t want to leave.”

“Of course I don’t, Dean. What would I do in the real world? I wouldn’t even get a trial before I’m hanged for piracy. I’ve been a wanted criminal for near-on a decade now, I doubt anyone in ‘polite society’ would forgive and forget merely because I _didn’t_ kill the Lieutenant of the Royal Trading Ship _Echelon_. Who, by the way, is presumed dead.”

“Yeah, they’ll see me and they’ll see a dead man walking,” Dean mused, now moving parallel to Castiel as they headed for the shore. “It’s probably better this way, right? No bills to pay, no superiors to answer to—”

“Aside from me, you mean.”

Dean laughed and shoved Castiel in the side, sending him stumbling left. Castiel curved back and bumped Dean in the side too. Dean grinned.

They reached the shoreline and stood with their toes sinking into the wet sand, washed over by the froth of the sea. The white dot was another mile closer to the edge of the world, making Dean and Castiel another mile further from rescue.

“So, Captain,” Dean said, applying the title with friendly humour, “what do we do now?”

“Get on with our lives, I assume,” Castiel shrugged. “A few more months and we’ll have newborn lambs to care for. Until then I still plan on building a barn so the animals have somewhere to take cover. There’s probably a lot more storms headed our way in the coming season.”

“Hm,” Dean said. There was a lightness in his heart now; the decision had been made, and there was nothing to feel bad about any more. All those months of worrying if they’d ever be rescued, and the guilt that followed when Dean secretly hoped it would never happen, it was all put behind them.

“So,” Castiel said, taking Dean by the hand and leading him back toward the house, “what’s your reason for staying? It can’t be as minor as bills or subordination, either. I know there are things you miss enough to put up with the things you dislike. There were times I was sure you’d give _anything_ to leave.”

“And there were,” Dean agreed, stretching his fingers through Castiel’s, tightening his grip for security. “I miss bakeries, you know? I miss being able to buy food and have someone else grow and prepare it. I miss my family.” He sat on the sand outside their front door, and he pulled Castiel down beside him. They sat thigh-to-thigh, their bare feet touching with sand grains scratching between their skin. “More than anything, it’s my brother. He’s what I miss most about the outside world, and he’s also...” Dean sighed slowly, gazing out at the sea. “He’s also half the reason I have to stay.”

Castiel’s thumb ran softly over Dean’s hand. “Tell me.”

“Ahhh...” Dean’s shoulders sank down. “How to explain it? Well.” He glanced towards his friend. “First off, you don’t get to be Lieutenant of a Royal trading ship without enjoying a few perks. A commendation here, a pay upgrade there. But you’re out at sea, so there’s not a lot you can do with an income, apart from trade it for foreign food that’ll give you indigestion anyway. So you sign a few forms and you can arrange to have your pay sent home. To your family. Your brother, your honorary sisters, old Uncle Bobby. Legally it all goes to Sammy—”

“Your brother,” Castiel said.

Dean nodded. “Can’t believe you remember.”

“There’s only one other person on this island, Dean. If I didn’t remember everything you ever said about your family then I’d be ashamed—”

“Okay, okay, yeah, we had this conversation already. But listen. There’s this clause in the forms, right. I’m only on a trading ship, but technically I’m under the employ of the Royal Navy. Hence the Navy patch on my hat.”

“The hat we use to hold attractive seashells. That hat?”

“Yes, that hat. So my brother Sammy... he’s a researcher. Kind of like a scientist. He does good work, and he’s brilliant, but people barely pay a nickel to read what he writes. Charlie – that’s my honorary sister – she’s director at a theatre. She does better than Sam but she still gets shit-all. Uncle Bobby—”

“Fixes carriages,” Castiel finished. “You told me all of this months ago.”

“Oh. Right.” Dean slipped his hand out of Castiel’s and rubbed his palms over his knees instead. “Anyway, the thing is, if I die in battle, defending Queen and country, then my salary goes to Sam. If I go down at sea, same thing. If I get kidnapped by pirates, and the ship is sunk and the crew of the _Echelon_ think I went down with it—”

“And you’re presumed dead.”

“And I’m presumed dead, then, yeah. Sam gets my money and Charlie and Bobby are better off. It’s a lifetime thing, too. Given I’m here, I get to carry on enjoying Heaven on Earth and I don’t have to die to let them bask in the spoils of my death.”

Castiel nodded thoughtfully. “I’m staying because I don’t want to die horribly, you’re staying because you want your family to live well.”

“Sounds kinda poetic when you put it like that.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

A line of waves rushed in, wiped the sand with white, then retreated back to the turquoise depths before coming in again.

“There is another reason,” Castiel said quietly, tucking his arms under his bent thighs. “Why I don’t want to leave.”

“You’ve got a thing for Woolly, haven’t you?”

“What? Dean—” Castiel scowled. “No.” His frown vanished, and his eyes moved to focus vaguely on the sea. “It is somebody, though.”

Dean’s heart skipped a beat. All the air went out of him, and his vision blanked for a moment. He’d never felt that before. All the love stories the boys on the _Echelon_ told him were true; it really did happen. Each heartbeat that came after was twice as hard as it should’ve been, and every sight in Dean’s eyes was especially clear. He could hear Castiel’s every breath, even over the rush of the sea. The sun illuminated Castiel’s dark eyelashes, fluttering as he looked over at Dean.

“Who?” Dean whispered. “Who is it?”

Castiel smiled. His tilted his head playfully. “Oh, perhaps you were right. It’s Woolly. All that gorgeous fluff, the way she bleats at night, I can’t imagine my life without her—”

He was still laughing as Dean wrestled him into the sand and shoved his face into it, making no attempt to fight Dean’s roughhousing. Dean growled, letting Castiel go. Castiel sat up, brushing sand from his face. There were wrinkles of joy around his eyes, his teeth and gums showing in his smile.

His eyes went to Dean again, and Dean smiled back. They didn’t need to say it.

“Don’t worry,” Dean muttered secretively. “I won’t say a word to the sheep.” His face was burning hot, but despite his internal flustering, he was surprisingly eloquent.

“Good,” Castiel replied, equally as secretively. “Woolly might catch wind of precisely how much I’ve come to adore—” He cut himself off, unable to find a good way to end the sentence. He was blushing too, Dean saw the colour on his cheeks. Dean took immeasurable pleasure from seeing Castiel’s shyness; he beamed at him, watching his eyelashes batting low.

“I’ve come to adore... too,” Dean said, softly. “Just so you know.”

“No, no, I know. I’ve known for a while.”

“Oh?” Dean curled his arms around his legs, resting his chin on his crooked knee. “H-How long, exactly?”

Castiel shrugged, squinting out at the clear blue sky. “Hard to say. It was somewhere between when I started getting dressed in private and when I told you you ought to shave more often.”

Dean stared.

Castiel glanced over quickly, then looked down the beach, away from Dean. “The way you watched me undo my buttons made me uncomfortable. But then I... I realised...”

Dean breathed as quietly as possible, waiting for the rest.

Castiel looked back, smiling softly. “Then I realised I liked you better clean-shaven. And when I thought about what that meant... As they say, it all went downhill from there.”

“But you still got dressed in private.”

Castiel gave a laugh that was more of a vocal hop than a laugh. “I... didn’t want to tempt either of us.”

Dean breathed out, mouth open. “Oh. That.” He recoiled briefly in surprise at himself. “Wow, I’d forgotten about that. Guess when you’re left alone with temptation for so long you forget you’re not meant to touch that forbidden fruit, huh?”

“We should touch more,” Castiel said. His eyes lifted to Dean’s, twinkling the same blue as the deepest parts of the surrounding sea. “I don’t see any shame in it, Dean. It makes me feel good, it makes you feel good. There’s nobody around to judge us.”

“Touch... Like holding hands, right?” Dean grinned, offering his fingers.

Castiel slipped his hand into Dean’s. “Hands. Yes.” He looked both dissatisfied and expectant, but said nothing further.

“And faces,” Dean said, setting the backs of his fingers against Castiel’s cheek, running their joined hands down his skin.

“And?” Castiel’s eyes followed their hands as they slid to rest on his thigh.

“And...?”

Castiel huffed. “Surely there are more exciting places to touch.”

For the second time in nearly as many minutes, Dean’s heart skipped a beat. “Y-y-you want—”

Castiel swerved where he sat, rounding on Dean so his face was barely an inch away. Breath huffed hot over Dean’s mouth. His lips parted instinctively, his eyes half-closed.

“May I?” Castiel whispered.

Dean’s near-pleading agreement was cut off by the crush of lips against his, by hands grasping his face, by the harsh force of exhaled breath against the skin above his mouth. Castiel pressed him into the sand and tore at him with feverish, soft-mouthed bites, taking what he wanted with obvious hunger. Dean whimpered, hearing Castiel let out a noise somewhere between a grunt and a groan.

Then Dean shivered, feeling every sense coming alive with _flame_. His fingertips were on fire, sensing Castiel’s blood flowing in his cheeks, his heart beating a tattoo against Castiel’s ribcage as well as his own.

Castiel gasped for air, their lips parting. He panted over Dean’s face, eyes dark, too close, moving wildly as he looked between Dean’s eyes, one-two, then down to his swollen lips.

“You kissed me,” Dean said on a breath, hearing the tremble in his own voice.

“I— I kissed you,” Castiel replied, a startled grin in the words.

“Do it again,” Dean muttered, but didn’t wait. He thrust up against Castiel and flipped them over. He pinned the other man down, hands together at the wrist, over their heads. Dean bit Castiel’s bottom lip, stretching it until it plucked itself free. Dean’s smile twitched on his face, feeling desire taking him apart from the inside out. He wanted Castiel so much he didn’t know where to start.

Castiel lifted his head and kissed Dean’s lips again, soft and tender. Their movement seemed to swirl, heads twisting one way, then the other way. Castiel lay his head back down on the sand, and Dean learned to work his lips apart with a roll of his mouth, with a lap of his tongue and a nuzzle.

Castiel laughed, turning his head away. “That tickles.”

“Mm, come back here,” Dean complained, kissing Castiel’s jaw. “Mmmh...” Kiss, kiss. “Cas...”

Castiel licked his lips, facing Dean again. Dean kissed his lips, then his nose, then tried to grab him with the intention to kiss him deeply, but Castiel was squirming.

“What? What’s wrong, did I do it wrong?” Dean let Castiel sit up, a hand out to steady him. Dean felt dizzy and disoriented; judging by the look on Castiel’s face, he felt about the same.

“You did it right,” Castiel assured him, but kept a hand out to stop Dean from initiating a second round. “I just... need a moment.”

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Castiel gulped, moving his raised hand to touch his own forehead, brushing his hair back with raking fingers. “I – I think we should stop. For now. This is... overwhelming.”

“Too much, huh?” Dean sat back with his back hunched, panting for breath. “I’ve never kissed anyone like that.”

Castiel puffed out a grin. “We should be savouring this. We should... share a new experience every day. The same way we always have before. Today we tried kissing. Tomorrow...” He looked at Dean hopefully.

“How ‘bout we figure it out when we get there.” Dean shrugged. “Take it slow. Yeah, I can live with that.”

The skin around Castiel’s eyes crinkled.

They sat for another minute, catching their breath and basking in how it felt to have unlocked this new treasure trove of feelings between them. So many new ways to explore their relationship lay in wait.

“Well,” Dean said eventually, slapping his knees. “Tide’s coming in. I got fish to catch.”

“Ah. Yes. And I have... things. To do. Lots of things.” Castiel looked around himself like said things would appear in the sand if he looked hard enough.

Dean rocked forward onto his knees, then stood. “Guess I’ll see you this evening.”

Castiel hugged his knees, eyes glinting in the sun as he looked up. “Yes. Of course.”

Dean stepped away, but paused, not wanting to leave without offering a promise for more. So, he stepped closer and bent to touch his fingers to Castiel’s chin. He stroked his thumb against Castiel’s jaw, feeling a sparkling bliss erupt inside him, not unlike a wave breaking over the shore in the brightest of sunlight.

Castiel’s smiling face was just as radiant as the fire in Dean’s heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a little late, apologies. (I overslept because I was watching JIBcon videos, so you can blame Misha and Jensen.) Next week's update will be a day later: Wednesday for the U.S., Thursday for people who live in the future.
> 
> On the subject of diary-writing... well, I highly recommend it. I've kept a diary for ten years and these books have become my most valuable possessions. They're not only a record of what I did that day (useful for forgetful people), but also a reminder for all the things I felt, because my attitude changes over time. Like the way it is for Dean in this story, the act of writing itself can be enough to change my mind. It helps me figure things out without needing to explain it to anyone else. I pretend I'm talking to a future version of myself - none of that "dear diary" stuff.
> 
> My handwriting changes too, and coming from someone interested in graphology, I can tell just as much from how I used to write with worn-out pens and filled every square inch of the page with unintelligible scribbles as I can from the words themselves. It's like taking a selfie every day but from the inside of your mind. Which is kind of awesome, right? Plus, properly preserved, once the age of the internet collapses, handwritten diaries might just be the only record of humanity left. (Is that morbid? Utterly terrifying? ...Yeah, it kind of is. For the good of humankind! Write a diary!)
> 
> P.S. If your response is "But nothing interesting happens to me," let me tell you that you're doing more than you realise, you just never considered writing about it because your routine became mundane at some point down the road. Seriously, take it from me, my daily routine includes food and tumblr and maybe writing, and that's usually it. But I fill an A5 page every day. I think that's what helps me write so much fanfic, I learned how to find words to say almost nothing. Writing about nothing will encourage you to find ways to tell a better story. Basically it's very important, okay. I am HUGE ADVOCATE for writing diaries.
> 
> P.P.S. If you tend to start diaries and not complete them, my recommendation is to add it into your daily routine. After you brush your teeth, before you get into bed. When you're _in_ bed. Always do it the same way each day. Pick a new colour pen each day. Use stickers! Make it interesting. If you stick to it, I promise you, you'll be proud of yourself.
> 
> Phew. Okay, I'll shut up now. I hope you all have a good week ♥♥♥


	4. Chapter 4

We haven’t kissed since yesterday. I think we’re both a little scared, as much as I hate to admit it.

Darkness fell that evening and I went to lie in the hammock, thinking Cas would be along soon, that he’d bundle up behind me like that first night with the storm. After all, if we were clear on anything, it was that neither of us cared about watching for ships at night. Five months, and it turns out both of us have been falling asleep on the sand after dark and not telling the other.

But Cas didn’t come in. I would’ve gone to look for him – yes, I would’ve left the comfy spot and dragged him inside if I could – but all I could imagine was that he wasn’t coming because he’d changed his mind about being intimate with me. We kissed once and it was perfect, but we’re both men. You don’t walk away from that and not second-guess any decisions or thoughts that led to that feeling so _amazing_.

It took me hours to fall asleep. I couldn’t bring myself to say my prayers. I felt like God’s angels were all standing ready to hit me with bamboo sticks if I even thought about praying for Cas to come and sleep by me.

Because the thing is, I don’t feel guilty. I never have. I don’t want to pray for forgiveness, because what is there to forgive? I fell in love with someone who loves me back, in his own way. We don’t have to kiss, but anyone back on the mainland would tell us we’re bad people whether we kissed or not. I should add that to the list of reasons why staying on Deirdre is the only reasonable thing to do.

I don’t even want to think about religion any more. That was part of my old life, I want to set that aside now. Maybe I’ll come back to it some other time, but not today. If Cas spent last night meditating, praying, or maybe coming to the same conclusions as I did, then it’s his own business. I’m just glad he came back by the morning.

He made me breakfast – something with coconuts, I didn’t even know we still had coconuts – and he evaded my question when I asked where he was last night. I’d needed all night to think, so it follows that he did too. I touched his neck as I went past, he smiled, and we ate together outside the house, watching the sea. The same place we kissed yesterday.

I spent today doing the usual rounds. Some of the sheep’s pregnancies are starting to show now, they’re getting tubbier by the day. And the hens are still broody as hell, so I figure we might end up with a lot more birds about the place come springtime. (I’m more excited about having to care for baby animals than I let on.)

I still can’t imagine this relentless sunshine as autumn. There’s a cooler wind coming in these days – a trade wind – but unless it’s bringing me pie or pushing up a storm, I couldn’t care less where it’s coming from.

Dammit, Cas is calling me. The sun’s going down, and I need to go prop up the extra wall before I can’t see where I left it. Guess I spoke too soon. Turns out, that trade wind _is_ bringing a storm. Here’s hoping the sheep will be fine. They have their own shelter, reinforced from all sides. Just got to do the same thing to the house and we’ll be away.

Okay, gotta go. Cas is _shouting_.

⚓

“ _Quickly_ , Dean,” Castiel snapped, running to the bamboo wall lying in the sand and taking one side in his hands. It wobbled, and Dean grabbed the other corner. Together they pushed it upright and leant it against the house’s front door. Dean went to the corner and started lashing it to the house, while Castiel hurried about the base and crammed sand into any gaps at the bottom. The extra wall was designed to keep wind and water out of the lower level of their house, and tonight would be its first trial run.

“When I call you, I expect you to arrive _promptly_ ,” Castiel said over the howling wind, stomping sand down with his bare foot. “I know your journal is important but if we’re washed away by the sea there won’t be a journal left to write.”

“We’re not getting washed away.” Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re so pessimistic. The sheep are secure, chickens too. Parrots have survived tropical storms for centuries, they’re not about to have problems.”

“I’m not talking about the animals, I’m talking about _us_ ,” Castiel said, waving a finger back and forth between Dean and himself, scowling as he then went to check the other corner of the wall. He slapped the bamboo with a hand, then glared at Dean. “I can’t put this thing up by myself, and if you’re not here then who knows what would happen?”

Dean flung his arms out. “It’s up now! What are you complaining about?”

“You’ve gotten complacent! You think storms are a breeze. In the literal sense! Those few minutes between you putting down your pen and putting up this wall could make all the difference between us surviving or not!” Castiel’s hair mussed itself as the wind battered at their sides, salty on Dean’s tongue. The sea was heaving now, white froth thrown into the air like legions of rearing horses. The sky loomed close, ready to fall.

Dean looked away from the greyness that surrounded them, and he looked back at Castiel’s flared nostrils and piercing blue eyes, and he scoffed. “You think I’m not scared any more? Of _this_?”

“If you were scared, you’d have helped me put this thing up _when I first called you_.”

Dean shook his head, pity stealing over him for a moment. “You’re looking at it through the wrong lens, buddy. Way I see it, I’m fucking terrified. Like every time. _Every_ time. But each time a storm hits—” he shrugged, “—I feel a little braver.”

Castiel bristled. He turned away, expecting Dean to follow.

They climbed into the house via the ladder at the back, clambering in one after the other through the window.

Dean went around tying the shutters closed, bamboo candle in hand, while Castiel took another candle and crammed extra bamboo sticks across each window as a final precaution.

“I’m still waiting for an explanation, Dean,” Castiel said, shoving his candle back into its holder, then turning to Dean with his arms folded. “For what reason do you feel _brave_ enough that you don’t help me prepare for the storm immediately?”

Dean lowered his face, eyes going to Castiel’s crossed arms. He walked closer, then slid his hand between Castiel’s arms and his chest, prying out a set of fingers. He held them, squeezed them. His eyes lifted, and he smiled at Castiel’s confused squint. “You told me when the storm hit, you used to take your cat and hide under your old man’s desk. She’d claw you – hurt you – and she wouldn’t want to go at first, but when she’s scared out of her mind, and you’re holding her...” Dean tilted his head, looking at Castiel more playfully than he should. “Nowhere else she’d rather be. Your cat ain’t so different from me. We’d rather avoid storms until the last possible minute.”

The look in Castiel’s eyes softened, but he didn’t relax his jaw. “That doesn’t excuse your delay. I expect you to come when I call.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Aye-aye, Captain.”

“...Hmph,” Castiel said, turning away to examine the nearest shutter.

“Think it’ll hold all night?” Dean asked, joining Castiel in double-checking the last window. The sound of the wind whistled through a gap, and Castiel poked a scrap of cloth in to quiet it.

“If it won’t, we’ll find out soon enough.” Castiel put his candle into the holder beside Dean’s and the other three, then he patted his hands together, brushing off dirt.

Dean sighed, toes curling as he walked across the bamboo floor. It was bumpy under his feet, strong enough to hold the weight of ten men. Dean sat in the netted hammock on the far side, swinging with the movement. His journal lay open on the floor beside his feet, and he bent to pick it up.

“If you were to write about that little argument we just had, how would you phrase it?” Dean asked, fiddling with his pen.

“Argument?” Castiel spun around, eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t an argument.”

Dean raised his eyebrows.

Castiel flapped a hand. “That was me... showing concern.”

Dean bent his head and pretended to write. “With regards... toooo... Lieutenant Dean Winchester’s... in-sub-or-dination...”

“Oh, stop, I know you’re not writing.”

Dean grinned, glancing up.

Castiel caught Dean’s eye, and Dean watched his discomfort dissipate like the wind had wafted it away. “I worry about you,” Castiel said, frowning. “If you’re not where I expect you to be... my imagination takes over. Where are you? I’m always wondering. Are you drowning, have you gone and fallen off a cliff somewhere?”

“There’s no cliffs on Deirdre.”

“Drowning is worth noting twice,” Castiel said, ignoring Dean’s interruption. “Where should I look first? What should I do once I find you, Dean? I’m constantly thinking of all the terrible things that could happen here. That day you broke your toe – you saw how I got then.”

“I’ve seen actual mother hens and they didn’t even compare,” Dean smirked.

“Precisely,” Castiel huffed, folding his arms. “You do stupid things every day and you never think to warn me before coming back home dragging a fucking _shark_ behind you.”

“It washed up! I didn’t do anything!”

“But imagine my panic! What am I meant to do if you ever _did_ get hurt, Dean? What if it’s something I can’t fix? What if it won’t heal, what if I don’t have medicine to make you better? What if I lose you?!”

There was pleading and anger and indescribable passion in his eyes, his arms stiff, hands in fists. He paused his heavy breathing to swallow. Dean held his eye, his hand gripped so hard on his pen that it hurt.

After a moment, Castiel sank back and stood straighter, now recognising the core of his argument. “I don’t want to lose you, Dean. If you were gone, I—” Castiel shut his eyes. “I don’t know how I would cope with that.” He gazed at Dean again, a tearful sparkle in his eye. “Not well, I suspect.”

Dean gulped. He looked down at his pen, spinning it between anxious fingers. He could put a name to the odd tension in his gut: guilt. But not guilt alone, oh no.

“I feel the same,” Dean said. “Maybe I don’t worry about you as much, ‘cause I figure you can take care of yourself. You’re too sensible to act like I do around sharks, anyway! And... and jellyfish. And pissed-off roosters. And sharp rocks... falling trees... fire. And swimming at night. And that one monkey that keeps trying to kill me.” Dean caught sight of Castiel’s seething expression, and he chuckled, head down. “But listen, Cas – I do worry about you. And I’m—” He swallowed. “I’m sorry for making you worry. Next time I’ll warn you before dragging a shark back home. And I’ll do my best not to drown. I’ll be more cautious in general, how about that? Promise.”

Castiel held back a surprised laugh. He turned away, not wanting Dean to see.

“Hey, it’s your turn,” Dean prompted, swinging in his hammock. “If I promise to amend my ways then you gotta, too.”

Castiel sighed dramatically, then turned around, mid-way through rolling his eyes. “I promise to try not to get angry every time I’m worried.”

“Yeah,” Dean scoffed. His smile spread wider, and he tilted his head. “Although I do kinda like when you get all bossy.”

Castiel’s expression changed completely. His eyes darkened, and his shoulders seemed to widen as he rolled them back. “Bossy, huh?”

Dean quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah. Like when you’re all, ‘get over here’ and ‘take your shirt off’ and ‘lie beside me so we can sleep’.”

Castiel blinked. “We— I’ve never—” He gulped. “I only asked you to sleep beside me once. And I only made you take your shirt off so I could see the rash on your shoulder!”

“So says you,” Dean said nonchalantly, eyebrows up as he ran a finger along the fine rope of the hammock.

Castiel fidgeted on his feet. “Whatever you like to believe, the fact remains that we’ve never discussed – _sleeping_ together.”

“Except that one time.”

“Except that one time.” Castiel exhaled. “And before then, if I recall, there was a storm, and you slipped in beside me because you were scared.”

Dean glanced towards the nearest shutter, which was rattling slightly, battered by the wind. “There’s a storm tonight,” Dean said, his heartbeat picking up at the reminder. “And I already told you how I feel about storms.”

“Yes. Yes, you did.” Castiel came closer, treading softly. He came to a halt at Dean’s knees, so when the hammock’s gentle swing bumped him, it stopped. Dean shut his eyes as he felt Castiel’s fingers caress his chin, the pad of his thumb bristling his stubble.

“Dean,” Castiel said quietly. He breathed out. “It’s all very well discussing this with you, but I suggest you lie in the hammock. It’s time to sleep.”

Dean met his eyes, lips parting. There were still another few hours left until the sun went down – it may have been stormy outside but it certainly wasn’t time to sleep. Cas must have something else in mind.

Castiel smiled, fingers stroking Dean’s jaw, all the way to his ear. “That means now, Dean.”

Dean drew in a quick breath, shifting back to swing his legs into the hammock. He made himself comfortable on the left side, making sure there was more netting on his right so Castiel could fit there.

Dean kept his eyes on the far wall as Castiel climbed in beside him, making the hammock dip another five inches closer to the floor. They were swinging smoothly now, and Dean watched the bamboo wall come closer as the swing hit its peak, then whoosh away as they swung back.

Dean smiled, feeling Castiel set a warm hand on his hip. His trousers were still holding together, but they were worn so thin that Dean was sure he felt Castiel’s fingerprints against his skin.

Gradually the hammock swung lower and lower, until it was merely inching back and forth. Castiel took a deep breath, adjusting his position so he pressed close against Dean’s back.

“How’s that?” he asked, quiet words against the nape of Dean’s neck.

Dean’s grin was nervous and flighty, but genuine nevertheless. “Feels good.”

“Safe?”

The word was accompanied by a tighter hug, Castiel’s chin resting on Dean’s shoulder, pulling at the strap of the vest he wore.

“Yeah,” Dean whispered, letting his eyes fall closed. “Feels safe.”

Castiel kissed Dean’s neck. His lips pressed deeply, his nose denting Dean’s skin. Castiel breathed out until he had no air left inside him. Then he inhaled again; Dean felt his chest expanding to push against his back. Castiel didn’t really stop kissing his shoulder, he just kissed another part. Dean heard his lips smack.

Dean purred, stretching back into him.

Castiel froze.

Dean froze too. Wasn’t this what Castiel wanted? Wasn’t the whole idea to distract him from the storm by means of pleasure? Dean turned his head but he couldn’t see over his shoulder.

Castiel swallowed, fingers curling into Dean’s vest. “Do you... uh... w-want to do some more touching?”

It was like sparks showered Dean from head to toe, setting kindling aflame inside his core. “All right,” he whispered.

“What do you want to try?”

“Uh— I don’t know. We did kissing yesterday. What’s next after kissing?”

Castiel shifted in his place, making the hammock swing again. He didn’t answer.

“Cas?”

Dean heard Castiel’s breath become unsteady, his hand shaking ever so slightly over Dean’s hip. Unless Dean was imagining it, it actually seemed like Castiel was getting hotter.

“Cas... c’mon. What’s the hold-up?”

Dean gasped as he felt a touch, a hand between his legs. Castiel waited a moment, then he kissed the back of Dean’s neck again while his fingers spread out in order to massage his crotch.

“Oh,” Dean sighed, smiling with a furrowed brow at the sensation of Castiel’s hand around him. He gasped as he felt himself twitch.

“It’s all right,” Castiel said soothingly, giving Dean’s crotch a good, hearty rub. “Let it get stiff this time, it’s okay.”

Dean didn’t have a way to _stop_ himself getting hard. His eyes widened as, for the first time in his life, someone else held him as it happened. “Oh— O _hhh_...”

“Mmh,” Castiel murmured, kissing Dean’s neck again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry for what I said before. You got hard and I told you to ignore it. It must’ve hurt.”

“It— Ah! It’s fine! It’s all good, Cas... It’s all— _Auhh_ , Captain...”

Castiel chuckled, nosing at the base of Dean’s skull. “I don’t know if you realised... I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.” He kissed Dean’s neck again and again, massaging his erection through the fabric, rolling the heel of his hand and curling each of his fingers in turn. “I’ve been holding off. Worried I’d – regret it.”

“You won’t,” Dean rasped out. “Please – please, yes. I’ll make you come too. I’ll make you come _twice_ , Cas, there’s no way you’d regret it.”

Castiel seemed amused by Dean’s promises. “I appreciate that, but reciprocation isn’t what I meant.”

“You don’t want it?”

“I don’t need it right now,” Castiel clarified, squeezing so hard that Dean felt a dot of hot fluid seep into his pants. “But what I mean is, I worry I might regret changing what we have together. This friendship—”

“Fuck that,” Dean muttered, then moaned at the feeling of strain that Castiel’s hand was causing him, keeping him so hard he thought he might rip his trousers apart. “Cas, fuck the rest of the world, fuck what your Momma told you. You wanna stick your hand in my pants, _I_ want your hand in my pants! Neither of us are married to someone else. What’s to debate?”

Castiel chuckled again, his teeth skimming the sensitive skin of Dean’s neck. “You asked where I was last night. I was up at the peak. I took a blanket, I crossed my legs and I looked up at the stars, and I prayed for guidance from whoever cared to listen.”

Dean bucked so hard he set the hammock into a judder, a cry of frustrated pleasure tearing from him. “And?” he gasped out, curious for the answer, despite his sweat and his trembles and his sudden partial blindness.

“And there is nothing left to debate. If we are to be trapped on this island for the rest of our lives, we might never see anyone else. Isn’t it perfect that we both want each other like this?”

Dean crooned, clutching at the hammock, mouth open and panting on his own wrist as Castiel’s hand rendered him a writhing mess; now he was so filled with tension and desire and a furious, passionate heat that he couldn’t function beyond a moan, a shudder, an eager twist of his hips so Castiel’s fingers thrust between his legs with greater force.

Castiel’s hand worked fast, rubbing and pushing and _squeezing_ the bulge between Dean’s legs until Dean’s hips vaulted forward, his fingers twisted in the hammock’s net as it swung. Dean felt a fresh sweat break across his forehead, a rough, vocal groan torn from the back of his throat. He was nearing orgasm already, and Castiel didn’t seem to have any intention of slowing his touches, apparently focused on making Dean come right there in his pants. Dean moaned again, then again, each helpless noise cutting off with a whimper.

Then, all of sudden, Castiel’s hips rocked into Dean from behind. Dean gasped in shock: Castiel had an erection – or at least the start of one. He rutted gently against Dean’s buttocks, his hand still gripping Dean’s crotch from in front.

“Oh – Cas—”

“Hush, Dean,” Castiel murmured, holding Dean at his lower back with one hand and thrusting against him. “I just want to try... Nghhh— _Auh_ , just let me—”

Dean pressed back against Castiel, excited by the feeling of stiffness right behind him. Castiel was practically fucking him, rolling sweeps of his body shoving Dean into the net, keeping him down and making him grunt at the force.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean whined. He pushed his hips back, trying to spread his legs open. Of course, being in a hammock, any attempt to change position didn’t do much. Dean cried out as Castiel’s erection shifted into the groove between his buttocks, clothy friction making heat and pressure tingle against a part of him which he’d never realised was so sensitive.

“Ugh, yes,” Castiel grunted. Because of the hammock’s proximity to the floor, he had to remove his busy hand from Dean’s front and take his hip instead. Dean whimpered at the sudden lack of touch, but he still blazed with arousal: Castiel was using Dean’s body to give himself pleasure, and the idea alone could’ve tipped Dean over the edge.

“Don’t move,” Castiel breathed, huffing into Dean’s ear from behind. “Auuh—”

“C’mon,” Dean urged. “Cas!”

Castiel made a rough, ragged sound. “Undo your pants, Dean. I – _unffh!_ – I can’t reach you— I can’t make you— _Ah_ , come on. Touch yourself. Touch yourself, I don’t want you left unsatisfied.”

Dean moaned, biting his lip. He tilted his head, letting Castiel kiss his neck sore, nibbling and nosing at his shoulder. Dean’s hands worked to open his trousers, a difficult task when Castiel wouldn’t stop thrusting at him from behind, apparently eager to tear Dean’s clothes in two with his movement.

At last Dean got his fly undone, and he grinned when his erection stuck through a hole in the netted hammock. Dean reached underneath and wrapped his hand tight, groaning deeply at the new pressure. He was a single inch from the floor; his knuckles bumped the bamboo if he moved wrong.

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel muttered against Dean’s neck. Dean felt the hammock judder as Castiel paused his thrusting, rising up to undo his own trousers. Dean felt a prickly-hot thrill as Castiel then pulled Dean’s trousers down, exposing his buttocks.

Dean sighed, eyes wide: Castiel settled down against his back, erection neatly set between the cheeks of Dean’s buttocks. His form was hot and slick with wetness. Dean had never felt anything so filthy, nor so glorious.

Castiel started to move again, slower and smoother this time. Without fabric in the way, they almost seemed to glide together.

Dean squirmed, blasted from within by waves of pleasure, only half caused by physical touch. His mind had ignited with awareness of their proximity, of how long he’d wanted this, of how perfect it was that they finally did it so Dean had nothing to fear, because his protector had him safe. Safe from any storm, inside or outside.

“Oh, that’s it, Dean,” Castiel murmured, rocking against Dean as he kissed him.

The noise that escaped Dean’s mouth was the loudest yet: Castiel reached around him to take over the tugging and pulling of Dean’s erection, squeezing him in hand. Dean writhed, knowing he was moments away from coming. Fluid eased from his slit every second, every too-tight, too-slow stroke Castiel’s hand made. Dean was shy for a moment, anxious because nobody but himself had ever felt him come, but all that went up in a haze of smoke as it started to happen.

Dean reached orgasm with Castiel holding him, and the world went away for a while. Kisses on his shoulder, thrusting at his back; it was all secondary. The storm outside became part of him, and he was sure he’d been struck by lightning.

Then the shallow darkness returned, flickering candle flames; hard, hot breath rushed over his shoulder. Castiel’s hand remained around him, his bristly chin and soft lips giving Dean’s shoulder little kisses where the straps of his vest had slipped down. Dean felt shaken loose, every limb lethargic and twitchy. Leftover come still slid from his penis, rubbed from him by Castiel’s slick thumb.

“Mmnh,” Dean managed to say.

Castiel laughed under his breath, a soft kind of joy audible in the sound. “Did that feel good?”

Dean nodded, smiling as his eyes slid closed. “Uh-huh.”

“Good.” Castiel kissed his neck again, breathing out. “I think I want to come too. Can I?”

“ _Can_ you?” Dean cracked open an eye. “I dunno, Captain, what’s stoppin’ you?”

Castiel breathed shakily for a moment. “Will you help me?”

Dean bit his lip, grinning. “Hell yeah. Let me flip over.”

Castiel wriggled his way out of his hammock, holding it steady while Dean rolled over onto his back. Wind and rain rushed at the walls of the bamboo house, but Dean set it out of his mind, focusing on the new sight before him: Castiel held his erection, a fist clamped near its head. It was flushed a dark pink, a sleek dribble of fluid coating the tip and most of Castiel’s hand. Dean wondered how much of the mess was his own.

Castiel slowly came forward again, setting one knee into the hammock on Dean’s left, then the other on his right, so he straddled Dean’s waist. Castiel’s trousers sagged around his ankles, tangling with Dean’s as they slotted their bodies and knees together, long legs and fluffy hair.

Castiel’s smile widened in relief, eyes closing as his erection touched Dean’s belly, a trail of warm liquid drawing a line onto his hip bone. Dean marvelled at the sight, of his best friend and lover’s body draped over his own.

“Use your fingers,” Castiel said, breath tickling over Dean’s forehead. “Just touch the end, that’s all I need.”

Dean reached, hesitating at first, but then his fingertips met heat, and he gasped, excitement bursting inside him. “It feels different than mine.”

“That’s because it’s mine,” Castiel smirked.

“Wise-ass,” Dean grinned, resting his head back against the hammock, eyes set on Castiel. He felt sparkly, like midday twinkles from the sea had washed into his eyes and all over his skin. His fingers stroked the hot tip of Castiel’s erection, watching Castiel’s face the whole time. “Hey... can I ask something?” When Castiel met his gaze, Dean rolled a shoulder in a slight shrug. “Why don’t you want more?”

“More what?”

“More than just my fingers. Let me hold the whole thing. Or touch your scrotum, that can be nice. Or I could—” He bit his lip, blushing. “I could put it in my mouth. The fellas on the _Echelon_ used to say that was good.”

Castiel had a flush on his cheeks, eyes gleaming as he held Dean’s gaze. “Next time,” he promised. He shut his eyes and groaned, rocking his hips into Dean’s hand. Dean tried not to take Castiel’s whole erection into his hand because Cas said he didn’t want that, but it seemed he’d changed his mind: Castiel panted, taking Dean’s hand in his own and guiding it into a curl, so he could thrust into it, once, then twice.

“Mmh,” Castiel sighed, letting Dean’s hand go free again. Dean wasn’t sure what to do, but settled with fingering the slit at the tip of Castiel’s penis again; he responded well to that.

“There’s no one reason I don’t want more,” Castiel murmured after a while. His head was tucked against Dean’s collarbone, and he put tiny kisses there, his words floating on warm breath. “Mostly it’s that I don’t like having everything at once. It’s better that way, I think. Then there’s always something to strive for.”

Dean rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically. “That’s why you teased me for months? You held off kissing me because you wanted to savour the build-up?”

“Um.” Castiel lifted his head and squinted at Dean. “Yes?”

Dean scoffed and headbutted his friend, then kissed his lips. “Thanks. I guess.”

“For what?”

Dean’s eyes dipped to Castiel’s erection, and he watched himself squeeze another spurt of clear fluid from the slit. “For making me wait. And making this even more satisfying. This wouldn’t have been as good if we’d done it sooner.” Dean gulped, a smirk twitching on his lips. “At first I knew I wanted you, _felt_ somethin’ for you, but I didn’t trust you, and it... it was kinda...”

“Confusing,” Castiel finished. He kissed Dean deeply and slowly, sighing into his mouth as he drove both their bodies down into the hammock, making it graze the floor. Their kiss broke softly, and Castiel wiped Dean’s lips clear of saliva with a thumb. “You trust me now.”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded, eyes closing as he smiled. His fingers spread a pattern across Castiel’s erection, making Castiel purr.

“I’m going to come soon,” Castiel said, with impossible calmness. Dean could tell it was forced; he felt him trembling. “When I’ve finished, I’m probably going to fall straight asleep.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Hey, I do that after I finish too.”

“I suggest you move into a more comfortable position,” Castiel smirked. “Face me, perhaps. On your side.”

“Aye, Captain,” Dean said, scooting his hips along a few inches as Castiel went the other way. They made the hammock swing, and Dean winced as the slight bounce made his hip bump the floor. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” Castiel said, a hand curling under Dean’s cheek. He settled close, and he looked deep into Dean’s eyes, scrutinising him, like he was examining a map. No, it felt far more sentimental than that. Dean saw love in Castiel’s eyes. It felt strange to think it, but if Dean were something as dull as a map, he was surely the most beautiful map Castiel had ever seen. The way Castiel’s eyes sparkled, the soft way he blinked, the slow switch between Dean’s left eye and his right, it made Dean feel comforted and excited at once. He felt loved.

“Why have you stopped?” Castiel asked, glancing down at his erection. Dean came to his senses, quickly moving his hand again. Castiel closed his eyes and made a strained noise of pleasure, his body tensing up.

“Got distracted by your pretty eyes,” Dean whispered, nosing at Castiel’s neck. Castiel hummed, kissing Dean’s forehead. He adjusted his position slightly so he was partially over Dean, one thigh between Dean’s legs, hips rolling so his erection filled Dean’s hand.

Castiel breathed more heavily now, his movements weighty and tense; he was eager to come, and Dean enjoyed watching and _feeling_ the fever build. Every one of his senses focused on Castiel this time, and the storm became nothing but background noise. Castiel breathed like he was starving for air, and he moved against Dean and into Dean’s hand like it was what he was born for, like that languorous, sweeping movement was the only thing he knew how to do. He keened with his mouth closed like he was scared to let it out at first, but all it took was a kiss from Dean – a kiss on the vein in his throat – and Castiel parted his lips and moaned aloud, and he was _loud_.

“Deaaaan...”

Dean cackled, his free hand gripping Castiel’s sweaty back. “This is what you’ve been waiting for, huh, Cas?” Dean smooched at his neck, able to lie back to do it because Castiel was curled against him, begging wordlessly for more touches, more kisses and more intimate words. “My hands on you. Me in control.”

“You’re deluded if you think that’s what I want, Lieutenant,” Castiel laughed, words rasping and dry. “G _aauh_ — Dean— Oh, shit, _yes_ , don’t stop, _don’t stop_ —”

“Just come already, Captain,” Dean groaned into his ear, hugging him with one arm and both legs, holding him as close as he could as he tightened his fist, closing his grip around the tip of Castiel’s member. “And look me in the eye, won’t you? Hold the man’s eye and you’ll own him, remember?”

Castiel laughed, but the sound came out broken and full of breath. He was too helpless now to comply, so Dean helped him. He pushed Castiel up with his knees, grinning up at the other man, wrecked and drooping above him. Dark eyes, mussed hair; all of his skin was shiny with sweat, and he moved with every breath, exhausted before he was even done.

“When you come, come on me,” Dean said. It was half a command, half a request. Once the words were out he flared hot – he hadn’t planned to say that, it just slipped from him like he’d wanted it all along. Another way to share a moment of bliss, that was all it was.

Castiel’s smirk was tired, but it was filthy and determined. He was going to do it. Dean realised what was about to happen and he rushed with adrenaline, and fiery pleasure. Though he was spent, a pulse throbbed in his penis, anticipating Castiel’s climax.

Dean went on rubbing at Castiel’s thick erection, both men gasping out of sync, sweat mingling with slippery fluid continually drooling out of Castiel’s slit as he got nearer to his peak. Castiel was calling out, wordless cries, each aching in the air, bearing down on them both, heavy from months and months of desire. All that waiting was at its end; Dean held Castiel’s eye with determination, not blinking, barely breathing, pumping the very tip of Castiel’s erection until he felt fluid pushing between his fingers, until Castiel was shouting pleasure against Dean’s shoulder, mouth open, stubble scraping on Dean’s skin.

Dean felt the hot splatter of fluid searing a messy line up his belly, pooling in places – then it was squashed against him as Castiel collapsed.

Dean grinned, laughing softly as he wrapped both arms around his lover, giving him a hug he’d been saving up ever since that morning. He squeezed so hard that Castiel gave a whine of complaint, which only made Dean happier. He nuzzled Castiel’s shoulder, then relaxed with a sigh.

“That was amazing,” Dean mumbled against Castiel’s skin. He ran a hand up and down Castiel’s back, then cupped the nape of his neck, kissing his throat. “‘m all sticky.”

“Hm,” Castiel mumbled. He turned his head slightly so he could look down at their bodies, seeing a mess of semen trickling off Dean’s hip. Castiel shifted, paused to contemplate, then completed his movement, setting a finger on Dean’s hip and drawing it up, wiping away some of the mess. Castiel wriggled his fingers, squinting at the sticky drips he’d produced. Then he huffed and flung the mess out of the hammock with a few flicks of his fingers, not caring where it went.

“Gross,” Dean said, but couldn’t help the huge smile on his face. He felt nothing but warmth and a full sense of gratification.

Castiel hummed, smiling, and lowered his head to kiss Dean’s lips. They lingered for a while, holding the connection. Then Castiel lifted his face and met Dean’s eyes, letting go of a long breath over his lips.

“Tomorrow,” Castiel said, blinking slowly, “we’ll try putting things in our mouths, like you wanted.”

“Things...?”

There was something conspiratorial about the way Castiel raised an eyebrow. Dean chuckled and shut his eyes, settling down to sleep. Castiel kissed his cheek, then nestled close, his forehead against Dean’s jaw.

“‘Night, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Lieutenant.”

“That’s _Winchester_ to you, sir.”

Castiel gave a jumpy chuckle. “Dear diary. With regards to Dean Winchester’s in-sub-or-dination—”

“Oh, shut up.”

Castiel grinned, then kissed Dean’s neck. “Sweet dreams, Dean.”

Dean gazed up at the bamboo ceiling, and he heard the thunder give a monstrous roar, so loud it shook the house.

Huh. They’d rocked the hammock harder than that a minute ago. A little sky beast was nothing in comparison.

Dean smiled. “Sweet dreams.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's commented and left kudos so far! And also thank you to those who are saving it until the final chapter is up!  
> (*˘︶˘*).｡.:*♡


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mini-warning for a brief mention of top!Dean in this chapter.

Shit. So, I _may_ have forgotten to write in this journal for a while. It’s understandable, right? You get trapped on an island with a grumpy pirate, you’re bound to forget a few things.

It’s been six months.

Please don’t hate me. _I_ hate me.

Well, no, I don’t hate me, I’m just monumentally disappointed in myself. I was doing so well, too! I stopped at a really good part, which is the worst thing of all. Cas and I had just shared _intimate relations_ for the first time (as Cas would say), and that was essentially why I quit writing. At first it was because I wasn’t sure how to write ‘I had sex for the first time and it was the most passionate thing I’ve ever done, and it completely changed the way I see myself’, because it was still fresh and I was still self-conscious about how vulnerable that made me. Thinking back now, it was ridiculous. But at the time it felt like a perfectly valid reason not to write.

Then over the next few days, it became less about me not being able to find the right words, and more about the fact we had sex so much that I never found the time. I learned to lick and suck him to orgasm, that was fun. He tasted funny the first time, which was strange. I got used to it as time went on. But that first time, it was magical. Maybe I’m remembering it too fondly – there was a lot of coughing and gagging, so I’m probably sugar-coating the memory in hindsight – but the first times were always the best, in a way.

The first time we tried it in the sea was the best. The beach was less fun. Sand... not fun at all. A few days later we broke the hammock because we got wild. And I mean _wild_. We were playing a game where he pretends to punish me for talking back to my captain. (We still play that sometimes. I can be a very bratty Lieutenant when I feel like it, if I do say so myself.)

Then another time we did it beside the water tank, while the water was splashing over us. Actually, if I remember right, that was the first time he put a finger inside. Neither of us really knew what we were doing, but over a week or so we kept trying it different ways until we figured out the best way to make sure I was open enough for him to get his penis inside me. Mango pulp is still my favourite thing to use as lubrication. It’s not the most practical, not by a long shot, but Cas had a tendency to lick up the excess when the mood takes him, and I can’t begin to describe how much I love that. (He has a long and dexterous tongue, for the record.)

Then we tried it the other way, with me sliding into _him_ – in our new bed, with a mattress filled with feathers and wool. I loved that. Before we did that, I’d never been inside someone before. I was so close to Castiel. _Intimate_ is the word I’m looking for, I suppose. I lay over him, inside him, and I held his gaze, rarely blinking, never looking away. For the first time I was convinced I knew what the words ‘making love’ meant. That’s what we’d been doing all along, but the idea just seemed so much more potent when Castiel was the one clutching at me and gasping at me to go slower.

We come back to that on occasion, but we have a comfortable routine for most days: he fucks me from behind until he’s done, then we flip over and he sucks me off with his mouth. If we’re using mango pulp then that’s usually when he’ll lick me. I always come hardest when he does that.

I scream louder than he does. Mostly because he gets embarrassed when he makes noises, so I’ll make more noise to make him feel better. We assigned a point system: one point if you scare away birds, one point if you give yourself chills, two points if your moaning makes the other guy moan too. One time we had to assign a bonus point each because a parrot came in at the window to find out what we were screaming about. I can’t remember if we even finished having sex that time, all I remember was laughing for what felt like half an hour.

Anyway, we had sex a lot those first few weeks... or months. So much that we’d collapse into bed together, exhausted, and I’d fall asleep before I could even reach for my pen. At one point I think we were averaging twice a day. God, no wonder I was beat.

Six months isn’t that long, really. It didn’t feel long. The lambs have been weaned off their mothers’ milk already, though. Oh, while we’re on the subject of lambs – me and Cas spent so long helping our sheep give birth, one night in early springtime. Seeing them born... best night of my life, I think. I cried happy tears! Cas hugged me and we curled up in a blanket in the sheep shed and we watched the lambs learn to walk. Utterly incredible.

Since then I’ve learned to shear the sheep so they don’t get too hot. We figured out how to make a loom, so Woolly and her friend now provide us with clothes. Wool clothes are a bit hot for the weather, but the wool can be made thin if you put enough effort into it. Plus, if you only wear one layer, it’s fine. Mostly I just wear knee-length breeches, Cas too. He’ll put on a thin jacket if he’s feeling bare.

Cas has started making these little figurines out of wood he finds. Carvings, I suppose you could call them. Monsters and animals, all kinds of things. They’re incredible. Since I met him, I always saw him as the more rational, logical, mathematic kind, but there’s something of an artist in him, truly.

I always wondered how languages and accents were made, and I think I get it now. You spend enough time with someone and you develop jokes which would make no sense to anyone who didn’t know the original context. After a while you stop using the phrases as a joke, usually without realising, and they become part of your daily language. Eventually you don’t need to say a whole sentence, or even speak aloud, but your meaning is clear. I can make the noise the sheep makes and Cas will point to where he moved them, or I can make a set of hand movements and demonstrate a whole afternoon of activity without being accused of talking with my mouth full. It’s beautiful, in a way.

Cas and I move together like the cogs and wheels in a clock. There’s never anything out of place.

Actually, it’s better than machinery. Cogs and wheels are too mechanical. We’re more fluid than that. It’s natural. I’m plant roots and he’s the soil. He’s the sky and I’m the Earth. Luna and Sol. Always in perfect harmony.

We’ve argued. Usually about minor ephemera, but we fight about important things, too. We saw another ship one time, and he told me he had doubts about me staying on the island, saying it was cruel of me to stay when my family thinks I’m dead. I said it would be equally as cruel to come back from the dead and abandon Cas on the island along with everything we made together – lest he come with me and lead himself to a noose. There was logic to his argument, but there was rationality to mine, too. And neither of us felt like we won. He’s right, but I’m right too. That’s always the worst kind of battle.

There’s also the small, bickering arguments. They go on and on, and they drive us both mad. Cas puts too much salt in his cooking, so why don’t _I_ cook if I don’t like it, well maybe I will, but then Cas doesn’t like how I burn things, and I say, well how else will I be sure we won’t die from food poisoning? And then Cas cooks the next day and it starts again. Now I think about it, maybe we both prefer having a rotation, beneath it all. It means we take turns, which is better than that time Cas lost it because he always cooked and I didn’t as much.

Basically we’re a married couple now. This is the way Sam and Jess used to fight when they got married and moved into that tiny town cottage by the river. Jess couldn’t afford servants because her parents had disowned her, and she had to learn to do everything herself. She did fine – it was Sam who worried about everything. Sometimes I feel like that’s what Cas is like with me. He’s patient like Jess is. I think every Winchester needs a softer touch, and Cas is mine. Ironic how I say that, given that he can be rough. And when I say rough, I do mean _rough_. Not just when he starts shouting, but when we make up afterwards. That’s always the best sex. The first time we ever made each other come was make-up sex, wasn’t it? Yeah.

I love when he’s rough.

Six months ago I would’ve shied away from writing that in case he ever read this, but this time I couldn’t care less. He knows I like it rough. I’ve told him. Out loud, and not even in the midst of something passionate. We talk about sex the way we talk about food. _After dinner we can have sex on the dining table; you’ll bend over forwards and I’ll squeeze between your legs_ , he’ll say, and I’ll say, _At least let me clear the bowls away first_ , and he’ll huff and say _Where’s the fun in that?_ And then we fuck on the dining table and afterwards I clear up, and he’ll help. That reminds me, I need to repair the dining table.

So that’s that. Our life these days is as regular as it was before, if you can call living on a deserted island ‘regular’. Maybe that’s another reason I didn’t write – nothing really happened. All that’s new is the sex. As far as reasons for not writing go, that’s not a terrible one.

Before I sign off for today, I want to explain why I chose _today_ to write after so long. I know I’m cramming this in right at the end, but I’m doing what Cas tends to do, and that’s save the best for last.

...For the first time today I’m not sure how to word my thoughts.

I’ll try. Here goes.

I think... and I mean I _think_ – Cas might be considering proposing to me. It’s stupid and crazy, but we don’t really try to hide anything from each other any more – hey, I already let Cas read this journal from start to end. But lately I’ve noticed Cas has actually started to become secretive.

For example, I’ll ask where he’s going and he’ll say to the hill, or to relieve himself, or go collect eggs from the hen house, but sometimes he actually goes somewhere else. I’ll go looking for him and he’s not where he said he’ll be. And then, yesterday, I noticed a new path in the grass, at an angle away from the vegetable garden. When he was cooking dinner, I snuck up the path as the sun was going down, and it led into the forest. I found a place at the end, made of leaves and vines, all shaped into a cave. I think a creature lived there long ago, the way a fox makes a den in a bush sometimes, but this one’s been empty for so long it started to grow over with plants.

But Cas’ belongings were there. There was a stool that went missing from the house, and one of the black sails I thought blew away weeks ago was being used as a cushion. I also found tools I didn’t know we had. Some gold from the _Leviathan_ ’s treasure hoard had been melted down to make shapes, and there was a real hammer, and a strange device with a clamp and gold circle on it, which I didn’t understand at first.

I figured it out later at night though, when Cas curled around me and hugged me while he said goodnight. His fingers slid between mine, and I felt a dent and a scab on his finger, like he’d pulled something off his knuckle the wrong way. And that was when I got it.

The device in the cave was for holding a ring that Cas was making.

He’s making me an _engagement ring._ At least, I think that’s what he’s doing. I’d understand if that’s what it is. I love him, he loves me. We both know it even though we’ve never said it in so many words. We act like we’re married, and we make love nearly every day in recent times. If he proposed I’d say yes without a thought.

Of course it would just be a symbolic thing. There’s no officiator around here, unless you count that asshole monkey that keeps stealing my stuff. But if Cas is willing, I’m willing. I’m already his forever, so at this point it’s not even a big deal.

(I tell myself that. Truth is, it’s the biggest deal of my life since washing up on Deirdre.)

⚓

Two weeks passed, and while Dean didn’t forget what he’d found, every day set it further from the forefront of his mind. Soon Castiel’s proposal wasn’t the first thing Dean thought about when he woke, or the last thing he thought about before he fell asleep. The ache and the longing in his chest started to fade in intensity every time he held Castiel’s hand.

The wait made him worry how long it could take in the end, yes – but he was sure it would happen eventually.

By the third week, things were almost back to normal. Hope still burst like a firework in Dean every so often: when Castiel reached for a pocket, or when he cuddled up close to Dean and held his eye for extended periods, but then Dean’s excitement would simmer away when nothing happened.

It was okay. Dean didn’t mind. Castiel was waiting for the right moment and that was fine.

But when perfect moment came and went five or six times a day, Dean really did start to wonder...

⚓

Dean latched the shutters open wide, taking a deep, deep breath of sea air. “Ahh,” he sighed. “Nothin’ like a crisp, dry breeze to wake you up in the morning.”

“Other than a mouth between your legs,” Castiel added, coming forward to lean on the window frame with Dean.

“Other than that.” Dean smirked.

They folded their arms the same way, legs stretched out behind them. Their feet touched, Dean’s toes curled to lock around Castiel’s foot.

Castiel reached to the side table and picked up the bowl of fruit, offering it to Dean. “Pineapple’s good.”

“Thanks,” Dean said, spearing a chunk on the sharpened twig Castiel provided. “Sho,” Dean said, mouth full, “wha’s yur plan fur t’day?”

“Hm,” Castiel said, letting Dean take the bowl, then accepting a bite of mango when Dean waved a lump in his face. “Well,” he chewed and swallowed his mango, then carried on, “seeing as today’s our one-year marker, I was hoping we could celebrate.”

“One year?” Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Already?”

“Three hundred and sixty-five days,” Castiel nodded. “Impressive, isn’t it?”

“Yeah!” Dean grinned. “Wow, I really put up with you for that long?”

Castiel shoved Dean’s shoulder, and Dean swung away laughing, taking the fruit with him. He leaned back where he’d been before, this time with the back of his hips against the window ledge. He offered Castiel the bowl, and Castiel took a slice of papaya with his fingers, dropping it into his mouth before it could slip away. He sucked the tip of his thumb dry, then sighed slowly as he chewed, eyes sparkling with reflections from the sea.

“We could celebrate the way we always do,” Dean said, reaching around Castiel’s lower back and putting the bowl back on the side table. He hugged Castiel from the side, swaying with him. “Dinner, dessert, a ravaging kiss by firelight, then you carry me to bed and rock me slow all night. How ‘bout that?”

“I was hoping we could try something else,” Castiel said, scratching at one ear. His eyes darted away. “Of course there would be all of the usual things too, I just thought...”

“What?” Dean poked Castiel’s bicep curiously. “You’re thinkin’ about something, what is it?”

Castiel smirked. “I thought you could read my mind by my facial expression alone.”

“I can. Usually. But I don’t know that expression. It’s all kinda... nervous.”

Castiel glanced down at his hands, fingers fiddling together. “What makes you think that’s not what I’m thinking?”

“Because there’s gotta be a reason you’re nervous and I don’t know what that is.”

Castiel slid one hand behind his neck and rubbed, then set his hands together again to hold his own hand. “What if I told you there was something special I had planned for today?”

“Other than celebrating the one-year anniversary of being marooned?”

“No, no, I mean a particular way I want to celebrate.”

“New sex position?” Dean suddenly felt even more lively. “New game we can play?”

Castiel’s smile widened, but it seemed strained.

Dean’s excitement dimmed, and he started to worry. “Cas...?”

“I have a gift for you,” Castiel said. He glanced up, showing raw honesty in his expression, openness as plain as day. “I made something for you a while back, but I waited. I wasn’t sure when would be the right time to give it – if there even was a right time. Things are... different, here. On this island. Laws don’t apply to us, society has no influence.”

Dean tried to read Castiel’s face; he was agitated, passionate, and at the same time his emotions were practically painted all over his face in extravagant patterns, and there was too much for Dean to interpret. He waited, heart beating harder because a little part of him already knew what was about to happen.

“I wanted a way to show you how I care for you,” Castiel went on, eyes boring into Dean. “But the longer I waited, the more I realised the ideals of our pasts have no place here. The symbols have no meaning any more. Religion – what’s that?”

Dean grinned, seeing Castiel’s mad little smile.

The smile relaxed away gently, and Castiel leaned more heavily on the window ledge, a warm smirk pulling at his lips, eyes a perfect ocean blue. “I honestly don’t know if my gift would mean anything to you. I’m hoping it would be more than just a reminder of the world you left behind, things other people would condemn us for.”

“Now you got me burning with curiosity, man,” Dean scoffed. “What the hell is this magical gift?”

“Magical?” Castiel echoed, peering out to sea. “It’s not magical, Dean.” He turned his chin down, looking at his open-fronted vest. “It’s just a bit of metal, that’s all.”

He pulled something out of his pocket and showed it to Dean in the centre of his palm. “Here.” He met Dean’s eye, smiling. “Will you marry me?”

Dean saw the ring and he laughed. “Oh! That thing! I swear to Deirdre, I’d almost forgotten about that. Damn, living on this island could take your mind off _anything_.”

Castiel snorted. “You knew.”

“Yeah, I knew,” Dean beamed, picking up the golden ring and putting it onto his left hand, wriggling it so it settled comfortably on his ring finger. “I saw your workshop about a month ago. This is real nice craftsmanship, by the way. Goes on smooth.”

“Are you saying yes?”

“Does it look like I’m saying no?” Dean smiled, knocking his bare shoulder against Castiel’s. “It’s beautiful.” He held Castiel’s eye, sparkles of joy still shimmering inside him. “Thanks for not making me wait too long. Saving it for today was... perfect.”

He leaned closer, and he kissed Castiel on the lips. For the sake of saving the best until later, Dean kept the kiss gentle, and relatively brief. He pulled away grinning, eyes on Castiel’s mouth. “I wasn’t kidding about the new sex position, by the way. I think I wanna break some furniture tonight.”

Castiel stared.

Dean grinned, bumping Castiel’s shoulder again. “C’mon, let’s go get some real breakfast. I’m in the mood for a strawberry tart, how ‘bout you? And you can’t say no, it’s your favourite!”

Castiel blinked dazedly, then chuckled, head down. “Strawberry tart sounds delicious.”

“Sweet. I’m baking. My treat to you. Happy maroon-iversary, Captain.”

“Happy maroon-iversary to you too, Lieutenant.”

Castiel took Dean’s hand and let him lead the way to the trap door in the floor. They made their way down the ladder in single file, then left their house hand-in-hand, going off to pick some fresh strawberries.

⚓

We got married on the beach at sundown. It was a quiet affair, our only witnesses being the sheep, the chickens, the parrots, and that one monkey. I don’t think they were paying much attention though. But me and Cas... the island could’ve gone underwater and we wouldn’t have noticed. For those twenty minutes or so, we only had eyes for each other. No distractions. I said my vows, Cas said his. I gave him the leather ring I made him the other week, and somehow I made him cry. That was oddly satisfying in itself.

I wish Sam could’ve been there. If he knew who Cas was, if he knew how much my pirate captain meant to me, he would’ve shed a tear of joy too. I like to think Mom’s spirit came down from Heaven to watch the ceremony, as well. (But I hope all the angels reeled her back home as soon as we were done, because Cas did what he’d planned, and he carried me back to the house and we made love rather violently.)

It is a big deal. But it’s also not. Things aren’t going to be any different now we’re married. Life goes on. Still, now we have a way to describe each other: _my husband_. God, it gives me tingles.

Cas is reading over my shoulder, and he keeps kissing me. I’m going to have to stop writing soon, because he’s trying his best to get me hard again.

Actually I think I’m gonna—

⚓

Dean woke up slowly, bleary-eyed, aching every time he breathed. He groaned deeply, rolling closer to Castiel. He nosed Castiel’s cheek, then sighed. “Mornin’, Captain,” he murmured, kissing his chin.

Castiel’s eyelashes fluttered but he didn’t open his eyes. “Mnhh,” he grunted, shifting his legs under the covers.

Dean curled even closer, sliding his arms around his husband’s waist. “How’d you sleep?”

Castiel frowned. “I’d sleep better if you weren’t breathing all over me. Your breath is revolting.”

Dean grinned and rolled onto his back, hands sinking into his hair. “Ahh,” he sighed. “Nothing like waking up next to your beloved after a big night. Six weeks married to you and nothing’s different.”

Castiel let out a purring hum of a laugh. His eyes shone like gems as he peeked at Dean, a smile breaking across his face, the way the dawn broke across the sea not too long ago. Then he shut his eyes and frowned. “Everything hurts.”

“Same,” Dean said, moving his face close enough that his nose rested against Castiel’s. “If I were a boat I’d be shipwrecked.”

“Oh, that’s how you see it?” Castiel laughed, grabbing Dean and cuddling him close. He kissed Dean’s lips, then his throat. “Hmmmm. I suppose I did rock you on stormy seas, didn’t I?”

“You filled my sails, Cap.” Dean raised an eyebrow, an unexpected penchant for metaphors coming alive. “Navigated yourself into my harbour. Plundered my—”

“Plundered your poop deck.”

Dean burst out laughing, hands flying to cover his face. He parted his hands and grinned up at Cas, accepting his loving kiss when it came. Dean took the back of Castiel’s neck in a caress and threaded the lowest curls of Castiel’s hair between his fingers, tickling and massaging the base of his skull while they kissed.

Castiel broke away first, biting at Dean’s lip. “Let’s go and find something to eat,” he suggested, kissing Dean’s cheek twice. “The weather’s going to be kind today; I think today’s a good a day as any to taste the watermelon crop.”

“Mm, watermelon,” Dean hummed. Castiel kissed his neck, then pulled up and away, sliding out of bed.

Dean chuckled, seeing the marks on Castiel’s rear. “I think we got a little too passionate last night,” he said, nudging Castiel’s warm buttocks with his foot before he could stand up. “Sorry if I hurt you.”

“I don’t mind,” Castiel said sweetly, stretching his arms over his head as he eyed Dean, who sprawled out over the mattress down below. As Castiel dropped his stretch, he rolled his stiff shoulders. “Perhaps I like when you get demanding too.”

“Being demanding is one thing...” Dean watched Castiel step into his white breeches, covering up the marks. “Just make sure you tell me if I’m getting too rough, okay?”

Castiel smiled at Dean’s concern, and crouched down to lean closer, hips hovering over the bed. He reached to cup Dean’s face, and he kissed him. “I’ll tell you,” he promised. “Now get up, we need to make the most of the daylight.”

“Aye, sir,” Dean said, then promptly flopped back to bed and pulled the sail-cloth covers over his head.

⚓

An hour later they strolled the beach together, still too lost in the idea of a honeymoon to carry on with normal things. They finished their watermelon, then held hands and walked slowly with their feet dragging through the sand, white froth sweeping at their toes.

They followed the shoreline, swaying and dancing together. Laughter and softness carried through every word they spoke. They were happy together. Dean didn’t remember ever being this content with his life as a whole.

The world seemed to turn beneath their feet as they travelled hand in hand, smiles each wider than the horizon.

And then, they came to the other side of the island, and Dean’s world stopped turning.

There was a boat on the beach.

It looked like a small fishing boat with sails, not big enough for more than a few people. Dean’s first thought was that it had washed up, its owner lost at sea – but there was no damage visible on the vessel. In fact, it was docked with a peg and a rope.

Castiel’s grip on Dean’s hand tightened as he scanned the beach. “Dean, there’s someone here. Dean, _look_.”

Dean looked, wide-eyed, and did indeed see a figure walking on the sand. They wore a floor-length dress, their belly swollen. Dean first thought he was hallucinating; there was no way a pregnant woman would come ashore here, at least not on purpose.

“Dean,” Castiel breathed. His voice was empty, and he’d barely spoken at all, but Dean’s name was still said with a tremor of immense emotion.

Dean saw what caused Castiel so much feeling. A man in a three-piece suit joined the woman and took her arm to gain her attention. The man then pointed down the beach at Dean and Castiel.

Chills washed through Dean: another man hopped out of the boat with a suitcase of luggage in each hand, and he was immediately followed by another figure, smaller. The second figure seemed petite in comparison to the first, and had a knot of red hair tied over their shoulder.

“A-Are you...?” Castiel started, trembling beside Dean. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Oh, I’m seeing it, all right,” Dean murmured. “What should we do? Should we roll out the welcome wagon, or go back and get our spears?”

“I think it would be sensible to make contact before threatening them,” Castiel said, stepping forward. Dean hung back. Castiel turned his eyes to Dean and gave his hand an encouraging tug. “Come on. There’s not enough of them to be a threat. We’re both good fighters. We can take them if they’re hostile.”

Dean was reluctant, but he followed, heart beating in his throat. When the newcomers were barely three hundred feet away, Dean slid his hand out from Castiel’s. Castiel glanced at him, and Dean’s breath hitched. “We can’t show them that,” Dean uttered, wishing he didn’t feel fear. “No matter who they are, they won’t take kindly to us being the way we are.”

“Married,” Castiel said softly.

Dean nodded. “Until we know them better, we’re just friends.”

Castiel slipped his hand back to Dean’s and squeezed, then let go. “Best friends.”

Dean smiled, but it was strained. He was too afraid of what would come in the moments that followed to be at ease.

The landing party was approaching now, their luggage weighing down their shoulders and dangling from their hands.

Strange – for a second, Dean thought they looked familiar.

The man with the pregnant companion hung back to help her walk, while the other man – a bearded fellow – strode ahead. Right at the front was the red-headed person, who Dean quickly realised was a woman wearing men’s trousers. Her hair came loose as she began to run, a grin on her face. Her luggage slowed her down but she kept running, closer and closer—

“Charlie,” Dean said. He lost all sense of up, down, his hearing and his ability to walk; his honorary sister, Charlie Bradbury, was running towards him.

“Dean!” Charlie shouted, arms up. Her suitcases hung from her hands, her boots digging into the sand as she plowed her way closer. “Dean, it’s us!”

Dean stood stock-still, frozen to the spot as Charlie swung her arms around his shoulders, almost knocking him on the head with her suitcases. He was driven back by the force of her collision, and he found himself laughing, hands on her waist as he spun her around. She shrieked, laughing so happily that Dean could only grin.

She dropped back, suitcases landing in the sand. She took Dean’s face in her hands and she grinned at him, tears sparkling in her eyes. “I _knew_ we’d find you. I _knew_ you were still out here, kicking around on a beach someplace.”

Dean’s flabbergasted expression remained stuck on his face, eyes swivelling to the bearded man who Dean vaguely recognised but couldn’t place. He had a short, light beard and dark clothes, and he smiled proudly. The man’s attention was mostly on Castiel, though, so Dean looked over at the other two.

Sam Winchester and his wife, Jessica.

“No way,” Dean laughed. “Sam!”

Dean threw himself into his brother’s arms, squeezing him so tight that Sam squawked. Dean roared into the fabric of Sam’s suit, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it. I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming.”

“You’re not dreaming,” Jessica said. One hand rested on her belly, the other set into the dip of her back to ease an ache. “None of us are dreaming. If we were dreaming, this baby would be out of me already.”

Sam pulled out of the hug, a tear making a single track down his cheek. “You’re alive. You’re really alive.”

Dean scoffed. “C’mon, you think I’d let myself die? Who do you think I am?”

Sam laughed for the sake of having something to do, his gaze wandering all over Dean’s face to take in every inch of this reality. “You’ve grown,” Sam said, in awe. “Last time I saw you—”

“I was a pale, scrawny little boy thinking he was a soldier,” Dean finished. He patted Sam’s cheek, shaking his head. “And you were so much shorter. God! What the hell’s in the water you’ve been drinking, huh?”

Sam laughed, eyes dipping low. “Dean, uh...” He gestured to Jessica. “I’m sure you already figured it out, but—”

“You’re expecting.” Dean smiled. “Oh, crap, I’m gonna be an uncle!” He clutched his head, spun on the spot, then stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Jessica’s shoulders with the utmost care. “We’ll take care of you,” he said to her. He stepped back and looked her in the eye. “We’ve delivered lambs before. Human babies can’t be so different, right?”

Jessica only looked mildly reassured.

Dean looked at Sam, but Sam was looking to Dean’s right. Dean swept his eyes that way and saw Castiel staring back, his mouth a little open. The bearded man stood before him, and they were both silent, waiting for Dean to be finished with his greetings.

“Dean,” Castiel said lowly. “This...” He flicked his fingers towards the stranger. “Do you remember Benny?”

Dean shook his head. “Sorry, man. I know your face, but aside from that...” He shrugged.

Castiel reached to touch Benny’s shoulder, then he let go. “Benny was my first mate aboard the _Leviathan_.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “You!” He waggled a finger at Benny as all the memories flooded back. “You were the guy who— You were the one who told the pirates to put us in a lifeboat and let us fend for ourselves!” Dean’s surprise turned to anger as fast as a blink. “You tried to kill us!”

Castiel stood between Dean and Benny. “No. No, Dean. He tried to save us.”

Dean gasped in frustration, trying to get past Castiel, but Castiel grabbed his hands and thrust them to his sides, restraining him.

“Don’t you see, Dean?” Castiel growled, holding Dean’s eye. “Don’t you remember?”

“Remember what?”

“How things happened the day we were stranded here!” Castiel worked his jaw, then let out a breath and loosened his grip on Dean’s arms. Dean wrenched himself free the rest of the way, waiting for an explanation.

Castiel sighed. He looked over at Sam, Jessica and Charlie, a sympathy in his eyes now. “I’m sure you’ve heard this tale of events before from Benny, but I think it’s worth hearing how it happened for us. Listen to our side of the story.”

“Do we have to do this right now?” Charlie said. Her eyes darted to Jessica, then back to Castiel. “As much as I’d love to know, I think Jessica needs a lie-down. And me, I’m getting peckish. You got any snacks?”

“I’m fine,” Jessica said, but Charlie shook her head.

“We can argue later,” Charlie said firmly.

Castiel stood there blankly, while Dean felt his own anger draining away. His family had just set foot on the island; this was really no time for a punch-up. “Come on,” Dean said to Jessica, offering her his elbow for her to cling to. “We’ll show you our house, and we can put fresh sheets on the daybed for you.”

“Thank you,” Jessica said, a note of surprise in her voice. Dean beamed, and he led the party off around the island, back the way he and Castiel had come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two more chapters to go! So long as I can do some speedy editing, I'm hoping I can get them both uploaded at once. So this time next week, it could all be over! Oh no!
> 
> Since I'm not entirely sure which way to go from here, I'll take votes: now they've arrived, should Dean's family stay on the island? Let me know in the comments. c:


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to everyone who voted on how the story should end. Your input definitely helped! Chapter 6 and 7 (final chapters!) are both up today. Thanks for all your patience, folks~

The six of them sat in the shade of the house, their faces lit with the golden reflections gleaming off the sand. Jessica lay back on Sam’s chest, and Sam held her carefully, listening to the waves wash up on the shore and the birds calling from the rainforest.

Castiel passed around another bowl of fruit, pausing to nudge away a clucking chicken that got too nosy. It was quiet for a while; everyone was tired, and the weather was sweltering. Charlie sat beside Dean, their backs against the cool bamboo wall of the house. Benny sat opposite Castiel, arms slung around his knees. Benny still looked like a pirate, but he was far cleaner than Dean remembered him.

“The way I remember it,” Benny drawled, his fingers focused on picking the seeds out of a strawberry, “I saw their cutlasses waving at the Captain’s throat, and I figured, if the crew don’t get their treat, only way they gonna be left satisfied is if no-one gets it.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean scoffed. “And what a swell treat I make now, living out my days in the middle of nowhere.”

“Shh,” Castiel said, curling a hand over Dean’s. “Let him finish.”

Benny eyed Dean carefully, then shook his head. “I told ‘em to put you on a boat and maroon you, rather than stabbin’ you like that-there fruit in your bowl. And you’re still alive, ain’t’cha?”

Dean speared a stick through the slice of guava Benny pointed at, and then he ate it, chewing slowly.

“Dean,” Castiel said, eyes flicking up to meet Dean’s. “I think your family deserve to hear your version of events.”

Dean swallowed his food, then tossed his spearing stick into his bowl. “Guess you do,” he said, smiling at Sam. “So. Uh. That day, the day we landed here, it went like this. There we were, minding our own business. The _Echelon_ ’s sailing along, on our way to trade fruit and animals and whatnot; we’re a peaceful lot. Then, outta the blue, we get chased down by the _Leviathan_. We open our sails and try to make a run for it, but _bam_! The _Leviathan_ outsails us and swoosh—” Dean carved a hand around in front of the other, making a T-shape. “We’re cut off.”

Dean popped another mouthful of fruit in his mouth, chewing as he went on, “So we drop anchor, swivel quarter-way round. Both ships are parallel now. We open fire on the pirate ship, cannons roaring, splinters going every-which-way. Boom, boom, boom!” He grinned at Charlie, flashing his hands in her face with enthusiasm. Charlie grinned, batting him away.

Dean crossed his legs and got comfortable, spreading his hands out. If he was going to tell this story, he was going to tell it the best way he could. “We’re under attack, and we’re firing back with everything we’ve got. At this point we’re just plain terrified we’ll lose the livestock, right, we’re not even thinking about dying yet. Half of us are fresh outta training, you know? Me included. We’re just a bunch of fresh-faced pansies thinking we’re heroes for leaving our ladies behind on the mainland.” Dean’s eyes went to Castiel as he said that, but then he lowered his gaze.

“After a short but furious cannonade, the _Echelon_ is boarded. Pirates swing across like wild monkeys, dangling off ropes. There’s gotta be fifty of them, versus fifty of my own crew. I’m doing my best to give orders – the _Echelon_ ’s Captain is just trying to hold the fuckin’ ship steady, right—” Dean caught sight of Sam’s surprised expression, and he grinned. “Yeah, I curse now. I consider myself half-pirate.” He winked at Castiel, grinning when Castiel had to hurry to hide his smile.

“But whatever, I can’t bark orders fast enough, and the crew’s starting to panic. We weren’t as good as we thought we were, not against pirates. They fight dirty.” Dean smirked. “Real, _real_ dirty.”

“Dean,” Castiel warned.

Dean huffed. “Anyway, the crew of the _Echelon_ get taken hostage on the main deck. We have a bunch of pirates around us, and we’re unarmed while they’ve got swords and guns and whatever else pointed at us. One wrong move and we’re having Davy Jones ‘round for Sunday brunch.” Dean’s audience gave a collective chuckle, and he grinned, urged to carry on by their response. “Now, I don’t know where Cas is at this point, I never saw him—”

“I was on board the _Echelon_ too,” Castiel said. When Dean, Benny, Sam, Jess, and Charlie looked his way, he blinked a few times, then elaborated. “I took some of my crew to go and raid the cargo bay. We took everything we could carry and moved it over to the _Leviathan_ – plants and livestock. We set up a ramp joining the ships, and once that was up, the sheep trotted across with barely a fuss.”

“Damn fool sheep.” Dean ran a hand back through his hair, uneasy about what he was going to reveal next. “But while Cas and his pirate buddies were busy making off with our stuff, back on the _Echelon_ , the pirates guarding the hostage crew singled me out – they wanted to keep me as a trophy or something. Hell knows why.” He knew why, he just didn’t want to say it. “A couple of them grabbed me and pulled me onto the _Leviathan_ , wouldn’t let me go.” His eyes lowered to the sand, hands fidgeting. “Let’s just say I, uh... wasn’t looking forward to the rest of the day.”

“But here—” Castiel interrupted. “This is when I showed up.”

“Yeah.” Dean gestured to Castiel. “Go on, you tell this bit.”

Castiel smiled. “I returned to my ship after taking everything I could from the _Echelon_ ’s hold, and I thought we were done. I was prepared to sail out of there immediately, let the sailors do what they will with an empty ship. But I got to the _Leviathan_ ’s top deck, and what I saw...” His eyes lifted to Dean’s, and Dean saw his sympathy. Had Dean not known Castiel had suffered similar experiences as a child, he might have lowered his gaze in shame, but instead they shared a moment of camaraderie. Castiel swallowed, and continued, “My crew were... pawing at Dean. I couldn’t stand for it, I pulled my sword and—”

“And he _lost_ it,” Dean interrupted. “Like, he went blazing hot, red-in-the-face, vein popping out of his forehead _mad_. Honestly, I was scared of what those pirates had planned for me, but I saw Cas and I literally thought he was going to kill me where I stood.”

“Dean,” Castiel said softly, rolling his eyes.

“You can’t blame me, okay,” Dean retorted, folding his arms. “Until you attacked the guy holding me I didn’t know you weren’t going for me.”

Castiel sighed. “Anyway.”

“Yeah, anyway.” Dean clicked his cheek against his teeth. “Cas went and took on his entire crew. All at once. He was mad because he’d told them they were only meant to get cargo, not people, and they went and took me anyway. So he’s yelling bloody murder at them, fighting them off tooth and nail once they take his sword. Me and him are back-to-back, fighting pirates with nothing but our fists and boots. Impressive, right?” Dean nudged Charlie in the side, and she nudged him back.

“At this point I clearly have a full-on mutiny on my hands,” Castiel said casually, almost flippantly. “I remember...” A grin flashed across his face, and he shook his head. “I remember a thought I had.” His eyes met Dean’s, and his smile was gentle and loving. “I thought, if I’m going to die, I’m glad it’s for someone who could empathise with what I’d gone through years before. Had I not been there, you would’ve suffered the same thing I did. I suppose it felt like I was saving my younger self from my own fate.”

“But we turned out to be nothing alike,” Dean added.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Castiel smiled. “We do have... certain similarities. Preferences.”

Dean looked down and cleared his throat. “Yeah-huh. S-So, the, uh... Then.”

Benny took a breath and cut in, “Half us pirates were all back aboard the _Leviathan_ by that time.” He glanced over at Charlie, then Sam and Jessica, tipping his head towards Castiel. “Cas here, he’s a buddy of mine. I ain’t about to let his throat get cut on the deck of his own vessel, now, am I? The crew at the time had a lot of love in their hearts for their captain, under it all. Some of them were mentors to him, others like sons or daughters. Big, dysfunctional family, that ship was. They don’t want him dead any more than I do. But the captain ain’t about to let them have their way with the pretty sailor boy. You let the sailor go or you get neither of us, Cas said. He was mighty vehement about it, too. So _I_ said, it’s about time I had a shot at being captain.”

“Wait, _you_ led the mutiny against Castiel?” Sam said in disbelief.

Benny chuckled. “Sure as hell did, brother. Did I leave that li’l detail out last time I told this story? Ah, my mistake. Sincerest apologies.”

Sam bristled, but said nothing.

“I said to them, throw the pretty one overboard and send the captain with him,” Benny recounted, flicking his fingers towards Dean and Castiel. “See, I figured they’d be picked up by the _Echelon_ in barely two seconds.”

“But we weren’t,” Dean said tersely.

“Naw, but that weren’t through any fault of mine, was it?” Benny replied, something playful in his snarl. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but Dean fancied he had strangely sharp teeth. “The crew agreed, in any case. You get a bunch of folks riled up about anything and they get real stupid.”

“Can say that again,” Dean muttered.

“Turned out alright for you in the end though, didn’t it?” Benny smirked.

Dean shrugged. He glanced at Castiel, then back down. He shrugged. “I guess.”

“That was when we rowed away,” Castiel explained to Sam, Jessica, and Charlie. “Dean and I would’ve bickered all the way to the island had we been given the chance, but we turned back halfway.”

“The _Leviathan_ went down,” Dean said. “I still remember the snap of the deck, echoing in my head. Never thought anything could be louder than cannonfire, but it was.”

Benny nodded. “The crew of the _Leviathan_ , newly under my command, we swung over and re-boarded the _Echelon_. Not one man left behind.”

Castiel smiled to himself, only enough to catch Dean’s attention. Without saying a word, Dean could tell Castiel was glad Benny made a decent captain.

“Of course,” Benny went on, “with an extra crew of pirates aboard, the folks on the _Echelon_ didn’t pay much attention to what was happening in the water. The anchor was already weighed, and the sails caught a full gust. Battle raged on board and nobody looked back.”

“Dean shouted but nobody paid us any attention,” Castiel nodded. “We got the sheep and the chickens. We pulled as much out of the water as we could, and the rest of the wreckage washed up on the beach, come the next tide.” He looked towards Dean. “We did all right out of it, didn’t we?”

“Are you kidding?” Dean grinned. “We built a goddamn house, Cas. A year later and we’re still alive? Yeah, I’d say we did pretty damn good.”

Castiel smiled, and Dean smiled back.

“Our two crews,” Benny started, drawing the others’ attention away from Castiel and Dean, “we came to some arrangement without killing each other. But that’s not to say it was peaceful, mind. We sailed on, guards up all day and all night, until we docked in Spain. The pirate crew fled – as they would. Half went into hiding on land, the other half found the first ship heading back out and paid their way to Asia or wherever they wanted to go.”

“And you?” Castiel asked.

“ _Benny_ had an existential crisis,” Charlie said, fanning at her face with a thin book from her luggage. “He apparently couldn’t live with himself, not knowing if the two of you made it. Two months after docking in Spain, he sailed back to America on one of the Queen’s Royal trading ships. The crew of the good ship _Virtue_ – as he’s fond of telling us – were on special orders not to harm him because he said he knew where to find two survivors from the Battle of the _Leviathan_.”

Dean’s lips parted. He stared at Benny. “You came looking for us? It was all you?”

“Ha!” Benny laughed. “Naw, I was ready to jump ship the whole time. Your brother was the one who never gave up on ya. He got the message you died and he called bullshit. My only mission was to tell him where to find you. But he and I arranged to meet in a tavern in Washington, some miserable grey day, and the first thing he does is pull a knife and tell me he ain’t trustin’ a word I say because I’m a pirate, which makes me a liar, through-and-through.”

“That’s my baby brother,” Dean beamed, reaching over the sand and clapping Sam on the shoulder. “Always told you you’d make something of yourself.”

“I _was_ making something of myself, Dean,” Sam said scornfully. “Scientific research is a valid career path!”

Dean ruffled Sam’s hair, then leaned back against the house again. Sam sighed, but there was a big smile on his face.

“So I take it you did what he asked,” Dean said to Benny.

“If by doing what he asked, you mean giving up months of my life to sail around the West Indies until we found you? Yeah, I did it,” Benny said. He scoffed, eyes drifting away. “Hate to admit it, but your kid brother grew on me.”

“He does that,” Dean grinned. “Plus, I’m sure having a pregnant wife adds a little note of sympathy. Congratulations, by the way.”

Jessica opened her eyes and smiled, then shut her eyes again. Sam rubbed at her arm, planting a kiss on her forehead.

“And what about you?” Sam said, looking back at Dean. “We spent this year searching for you. What did you do?”

“Aside from building a house?” Dean shrugged. “Gardening. Fishing. Farming. Charting wildlife and writing a journal. What’s to know?”

Sam frowned. “Well, how did you two become friends? You seem close, I’m just wondering...”

Dean swallowed, eyes darting to Castiel, then back to Sam. “Uh.”

Castiel took over, fishing Dean out of his sudden panic. “We cultivated a tolerance for each other, which eventually became a... companionship. Like I said: we’re similar where it matters. It’s true that we have our differences. But we always make up.” He smirked at Dean, causing a tiny tingle of love to stir within his belly.

Sam smiled. Charlie sat forward, however, looking closely at Dean from right beside him. Dean glanced at her, and immediately realised she was trying to discern the exact nature of his and Castiel’s relationship. He flushed head-to-toe in alarm.

“I think it’s about time I showed you around the house,” Dean said breathily, pushing himself to his feet, brushing sand off his palms. He looked hopefully at Sam. “You coming?”

Sam seemed startled by the abrupt change of subject, and looked carefully down at Jessica. “How are you feeling, Jess?” he asked quietly. “Would you like to see the house?”

“There’s a ladder to get to the upper floor,” Castiel said, standing up too, holding empty fruit bowls. “It used to be outside but we moved it in. Regardless – you’re heavily pregnant—”

“Oh, I hadn’t noticed,” Jessica said snippily.

“What I mean is, would you be okay to climb...?”

Jessica sat up, grunting and puffing hard with the effort despite Sam’s help. Sitting up, she put both hands on her humongous belly, rubbing it soothingly, staring down at it in thought. Then she sighed, sending a wretched glance towards Charlie.

“I can mind the lady,” Charlie said cheerfully. “The rest of you go, I’ve got her.”

Jessica smiled, and Sam helped his wife, easing her a foot closer to the house’s front wall so Jessica could lean against Charlie’s breast instead of Sam’s. Dean felt a familial warmth inside him; he was pleased to see Charlie had formed close bonds with someone other than himself in the time he was absent.

“What about you?” Castiel asked Benny. “Would you like to see the house too?”

“Bein’ honest, I’d rather take a waltz around your forest there,” Benny said, eyes enlivened by the mere sight of tropical flora, thick with a multitude of green shades, heaving in the sultry breeze. “Been a good while since I set foot on a land mass. I’d be remiss if I put off exploring any longer.”

Castiel’s eyes crinkled. “I forgot how much you like forests.”

Benny beamed and clapped him on the shoulder as he went past, heading for the trees. Castiel watched him go, then sighed. “I should go with him. He might encounter the monkey.”

Dean cringed. “Not saying I _care_ about your first mate or anything, Cas, but yeah, you probably should go protect him. I’d hate to deal with him if he gets his face scratched off.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, touching Dean’s hand tenderly before sweeping away, dumping all the bowls with Dean. Dean grunted as he bent down, collecting up the rest of the dirty dishes.

“I see you made use of everything you had,” Sam said, an impressed note in his voice. “Coconut shells for bowls?”

“Huh?” Dean looked down at what he was holding. “Oh. Right. Yeah. I guess when you live here, it doesn’t even cross your mind that something is trash. The leftovers from something finished are usually the first ingredients for something else that hasn’t been made yet. Besides, whoever said living on an island meant you couldn’t live in luxury? Coconut bowls would be high fashion back on the mainland.”

Dean led Sam into the cool and relieving shade of the bamboo house, where the high ceiling loomed three feet over their heads. The space dangled with ivy and other plants, all in pots strung from vine ropes. To Dean’s left was the extra feather bed on its sturdy frame, which would need a thorough plumping and a clean sheet before Jessica was allowed anywhere near it.

Dean went straight ahead and dumped all the washing onto the dining table. Someone responsible would clean it later.

“Nice place,” Sam said, hanging around behind Dean, while Dean pushed open the wooden shutters over the back workstation to let some more daylight in. “You’ve got room for sitting and reading, and for eating. It’s almost like mine and Jessica’s place back home. Except... y’know, made of bamboo. You’ve even got a couch, look! And artwork? Did you make that? You must’ve made that.” Sam was smiling widely when Dean turned around to see him. “It’s incredible.”

Dean grinned. “Cas made it. He’s real artistic when he sets his mind to it. Otherwise it’s all _practicality_ this, and _it’s meant to be functional, not look nice_ that.”

Dean smiled at the sculpture on the dining table: it represented a snake-like sea monster, roaring aloud; twenty hooked spines protruded from its back, each carved from some unidentified wetland wood. Each spine was a different shade of brown, the darkest and largest at the creature’s nape, the smallest and the most fragile at the tip of its winding tail. “He calls it _Baby Leviathan_. It started as a joke, then the name stuck.” Dean stroked the creature’s head, feeling every individual scale under his fingertip. “It’s real good, huh?”

Sam exhaled. “I can think of a dozen, maybe two dozen people who would pay good money for one of those back home. High fashion. Like you said.” He looked at Dean with satisfaction in his eyes. “Once we get back to the mainland, sell a few of these and he could be rich almost overnight.”

Dean took a breath but didn’t let go of it. _Shit._ They were going to have this discussion _right now_. Dean wasn’t merely underprepared, he wasn’t prepared at all. In fact, he was stunned into an unhappy silence, unsure where to start.

Sam began to frown. “You _are_ bringing Castiel back with us, aren’t you?”

Dean bit his lip as he looked down, then he eased his lower lip out from between his teeth. He frowned, then relaxed. “Sam... Uh. About that. The whole ‘leaving’ thing...”

A silence descended.

Dean swallowed. “Me and Cas... we’re staying here.”

Sam breathed out. “You’re kidding, right?”

Dean shook his head. His eyes flicked up to meet Sam’s, and he managed a smile for his little brother. “I told myself it was for you. It was all for your sake, staying here. The world thinks I’m dead and the consolation pay goes to you, for your family – your wife and your new baby. To Charlie and Bobby. But, then...” He shut his eyes, swallowing again. “Now I see what you did for me, spending the whole year looking for me... God, I shoulda known you’d do that.”

He turned his back on Sam, running a hand over his mouth. “It all was for _myself_ , Sam. Every bit of it. Staying here, it was nothing but selfish... cowardly. I like it here and I didn’t want to leave. The money was just a second part.” He looked back over his shoulder, aching deep inside as he saw Sam’s dumbfounded expression. “I’m sorry, Sammy. From the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry I did that to you.”

Sam stared, and stared. Then he smirked. “You know what? I’m not even mad.”

Dean faced him. “What?”

Sam shrugged. “I’m not even _surprised_. I knew you were alive. Gut feeling, I guess you could call it. Bobby was ever the pessimist; he stayed home grouching that we’d never find you, and young people these days are just too full of pointless optimism—” Dean laughed, Sam grinned, “—but me and Charlie knew. Never gave up, not for a second. If we ever went back to our house on the mainland, we’d have all the money we needed, thanks to you – but we wouldn’t have _you_.”

“You _wouldn’t_ have me...” Dean blinked. “Wait, does that mean you’d let me stay?”

Sam chuckled. “Oh, come on. Lieutenant Dean Winchester of the Royal Trading Ship _Echelon_ wouldn’t fake his own death and make camp in the middle of the ocean for a year unless he really wanted to. Trust me, I know you well enough to know if you wanted to escape this place, you would’ve found a way. Hey, you cared enough about staying to let me think you were dead, and I’ve had a year to come to terms with that.” He opened his hands and raised them like a surrender. “You’re happy here. It’s obvious. I’m not taking that away from you. Now I’ve seen proof you’re alive – I don’t know, I’m satisfied.” He shrugged and grinned. “Must be the lawyer in me talking.”

Dean tilted his head, disbelieving for a few seconds longer. Sam dropped his hands and smiled. He smiled like all his worries had been washed away on an early tide. He was really serious about this.

“Ah— Wow,” Dean said, trying not to sound choked up. He raised his eyebrows, staring at his bare feet. “Sam. God, now I don’t know where to start—”

“You can start with ‘thank you’,” Sam suggested.

Dean grinned, looking up with a glaze of tears in his eyes, quickly blinking them away. “I always knew you were the better man, Sammy.” He stepped forward tentatively, but Sam rushed closer and took him into a hug halfway. Dean tried to hold back a sob but it came out anyway. After more than a year apart from his brother, he just couldn’t help it. He clung to Sam’s wide shoulders, and for the duration of their embrace, Dean never wanted to let go.

Sam squeezed, then released Dean first. “You’re still a decent man, you know,” Sam said. He backed up, a lively look in his eye. “Not as good as me, I’ll admit—”

Dean shoved him, laughing. Sam took a step back, moving on and going to look at the rest of the lower half of the house. “So where do you sleep?” Sam asked, unbuttoning his waistcoat as he walked around. “It must get loud at night, given you’re right between the sea and a rainforest.”

“You get used to it,” Dean said, leading Sam to the angled ladder on one side of the building. “Cas once mentioned my occasional snores bother him more than anything else.”

Sam chuckled, following Dean up the ladder. Dean came through the always-open trap door at the top, waiting to pull Sam up. Sam was much taller than Dean now, and wider in the shoulders, so he only just fit through the opening. Having lived on a boat, Sam had built up a hefty amount of muscle, going through a physical transformation which was impressive for a single year, but somehow he still seemed like a kid to Dean.

“So this is the bedroom,” Dean said. “We like it spacious. Room to spread out. Loads of natural daylight, shutters all around. Cas helped with the design but it was mostly mine.” Dean stood with his hands on his hips in the middle of the big, rectangular room, admiring the view on every side. The sea rushed at the front, the forest rustled at the back.

“More couches!” Sam said happily, flopping into one. Dean grimaced, recalling a certain personal stain in that area which hadn’t yet been cleaned up, but he decided not to say anything.

“These could go for a good price too,” Sam pondered, running a finger along the bamboo arm rest, examining the smooth, polished vinewood which wound around the joints, keeping them tight as well as embellishing them. “But, you’re staying,” Sam reminded himself. “Money doesn’t matter any more.”

“Damn right it doesn’t,” Dean said, sitting beside Sam and folding his arms. “Life’s simpler out here. Eat, poop, make things, sleep. You never get bored.”

Sam scoffed in amusement. Then he looked up. “So where are the beds?”

“Oh, that’s the bed there,” Dean said, standing up and pointing at the mattress on the floor, over on the far side. “Gets good morning sun. If we leave the shutters open we can sit up and watch the sun come up, most months of the year.”

Sam stood up too, more slowly. “We?”

Dean paused, keeping the smile frozen on his face. “Me ‘n Cas. Who else?”

Sam’s mouth opened. “Oh, no, no, I mean...” He gaped slightly. “You and him... share a bed?”

Dean’s breath rushed out of him in one big puff. He hoped he wasn’t about to start blushing – maybe he wouldn’t, since all his blood was all on its way to his pounding heart. “Uh. Yeah,” he said, rather weakly. “It’s... easier.”

Sam seemed to accept that. “Oh, yeah. Makes sense, living in a place like this.” He laughed, waving a hand to brush away some passing thought. “For a second I thought you were _married_ or something. That would’ve been funny.”

“Heh.” Dean gulped. “Yeah. Real hilarious.” He crossed his arms across his stomach and clung to himself anxiously.

Sam busied himself examining another sculpture over by one of the windows, a little wooden fish, which sat up on a dresser Dean had made specially to display Castiel’s art. Meanwhile, Dean argued with himself in his head, guilt clashing against warnings until he couldn’t take it any more.

“Sam, I need to tell you something.”

Sam turned around, the fish in his hands. “Hm?”

Dean slung his arms loose and tried to stand casually, but he ended up rubbing the back of his head and tugging at his loose vest. “It’s, uh... about me and Cas.”

Sam sensed Dean’s unease, and he put the fish down to pay Dean his full attention. Dean wasn’t sure if he wanted so much attention; now his vest felt too revealing and the words stuck in his mouth felt all wrong.

“Dean, what is it?” Sam asked.

Dean sat back down on the couch and took hold of his own hand, fingers twisting between his knees. “You know how, when you met Jess... you two were from opposite ends of the scale. She was rich with good breeding, you were dirt-poor and—”

“The human equivalent of a mongrel, right? That’s what you used to say.”

Dean grinned back, enjoying Sam’s smile. “Yeah.”

“So what have me and Jess got to do with you and Cas?” Sam probed.

“Well.” Dean huffed, relaxing a bit when Sam came to sit beside him again. “Me and Cas were like that. Pirate, sailor. Bad versus good, I thought at the start. And then... okay, you know how when you got to know Jess, you started seeing how she wasn’t _just_ rich, and she wasn’t _just_ pretty?”

“Yeaaah...?”

Dean licked his lips. “Same for me and Cas. Not _just_ a pirate, not _just_ a grumpy bull-headed commander with a prickly jaw and prickly mannerisms.” Dean shut his eyes then, taking a moment to compose himself. When he opened them, he looked Sam straight in the eye, and told him clearly, “Jessica ended up being everything you never knew you needed. You told me yourself, your wedding night – you fell in love with her because she was like the lid over a boiling pot, or some poetic metaphor like that. She helped you make sense of things that always confused you. She kept you sane and motivated in a world you thought would tear you apart from the inside out. And she would never stop being interesting to you. And you loved her for that, and she loved you for whatever reason – God knows—” Sam laughed, Dean grinned, “so you got married.”

Sam blinked. “Okay. I remember saying something like that.”

“Look – Cas and I don’t just share a bed because it’s _easier_ , Sam.”

A beat of silence.

Another beat. Dean wondered if he’d said it right, if he’d said enough, if he’d said too much.

Sam held Dean’s eye firm, then he blinked. “You... _married_ Cas?”

Dean let out a breath of relief. “Yeah. About six weeks ago, actually.” He showed Sam the gold ring on his finger. “He made me this.”

Sam screwed up his face in a grin. “Ha. Haha.” His eyebrows lifted. “You had me for a second. You _married_ Cas.” He chuckled deeply and flicked his gaze upward. “A year away from civilisation and your sense of humour’s still as bizarre as before. Nice ring, by the way.”

Dean’s face fell. “What? No, I’m being serious. We kiss and stuff.”

Sam scoffed. “Dean, I think I’d know if you were married. You and Cas are close, I’ll give you that, but that’s not surprising when you’re trapped on an island together with no-one else to talk to. You got me; you tell an entertaining story.”

“Sam, I’m not kidding.”

Sam shook his head. “Joke’s over now, Dean. It’s getting... kinda uncomfortable.”

Dean slid his hands together again, chewing on the inside of his lip. “Okay.” He didn’t know what to do now. “You don’t believe me... That’s.... fine.” He swallowed twice, trying not to let his disappointment show. This was probably better, he told himself. This way he wasn’t in danger of upsetting Sam or Jessica’s sensibilities. Sam and Jess hadn’t gone through what Dean had gone through with Cas, so they had no way to know how important their bond was.

“Dean?”

Dean glanced at Sam. “Huh?”

Sam seemed concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Look, we should go see what the others are doing.” Dean stood up, turning his expressionless face away from Sam. “Gotta get some dinner, too. More mouths to feed than usual. And Jess is eating for two. Unless I start catching fish now we’ll be having something wilted and green for supper, and I’m not raving about that idea.”

Sam followed him back downstairs in silence. Dean didn’t check his face, but he got the impression Sam’s silence was a thoughtful one.

⚓

We’re eating in silence. It’s almost scary. You don’t travel the world looking for someone and then eat dinner in _silence_.

Charlie keeps staring at me. I bet she thinks it’s rude that I’ve got my nose buried in my journal while everyone else is munching away at their spicy fish and salty potatoes and green stuff Cas insisted on dishing out. But unless I keep my head down and write I’m just going to end up defending myself and Cas in an argument I’m legitimately not sure we could win.

I don’t think we did anything wrong. I don’t think we’re _doing_ anything wrong. Cas is sitting next to me with his hand on my thigh, and I have my left hand over his while I write with my right. Yeah, we’re making dinner uncomfortable, but the secret’s out now, and unless we keep each other close, things could get ugly. He’s keeping me calm, he keeps rubbing his thumb over my hand. I think he’s nervous too.

Sam didn’t believe me at first. I was upset; I’d expected him to call me names, not deny that the love of my life is anything other than a close friend. I pretended everything was fine, because what else was there to do?

The rest of the day was pretty good, admittedly. I made the downstairs bed up for Jessica and she laid down to take a nap. Then Sam, Charlie and I went down to the shore to get some dinner. I showed them the nets and the rowing boat, and we had some fun getting fish. We felt like real siblings again, laughing and pushing each other into the water. I haven’t had that much fun since I was a kid. We used to pull horse carriages around Bobby’s yard together, and today’s fishing outing had the same sort of atmosphere. It was work, but Charlie and Sam made it fun. They made it into a game for me, and I’ll never forget how good this afternoon was.

We came back when it was nearing sunset. Jessica was awake, and Cas was helping Benny push his boat up nearer the house so it wouldn’t float off on the next tide. I docked my fishing boat right behind it, and we went inside.

Everything was fine at first. We made dinner together – Cas and I started off, then everyone else joined in too. Jessica went and fixed everyone else’s vegetable-chopping mistakes, and she insisted on Benny’s Cajun soup because she couldn’t stand the smell of potatoes, let alone the taste, and she didn’t want solid fish. (So we had some of Benny’s soup at dinner too. I finished mine before I wrote this. It was _awesome_ , and I don’t use that word lightly. If he makes more of that soup I think I might start to like him.)

The six of us talked about all sorts of things while we prepared the food. Travelling, the weather and the sea, our relationships. Sam said he was thinking about taking up law as a career, and of course I told Sam he’d make a good lawyer (wouldn’t he, though?), and Jessica kissed him because she was proud.

That was when it started to go wrong. See, I felt all warm inside when I saw them kiss, but also I felt bad, like I was lying to them, somehow. I felt this overwhelming urge to kiss Cas too, to show the rest of them that we were just like Sam and Jess. We shouldn’t need to pretend we’re anything other than what we are. We make love, we _love_ ; we build and we fight. We have our babies too, if you count the lambs. And when we’re intimate, it’s not sinful – because we’re _married_. We said vows and we meant it, so it counts. (Sam and Jess don’t need to know about the sex we had before then.)

So I took Cas’ hand and I held it, his fingers in between mine. I wasn’t brave enough to kiss him, but maybe that was for the best, because a second later, Sam noticed, and I just saw his face _fall_. Like he realised my ‘joke’ earlier about me being married to Cas wasn’t a joke, and he reacted the wrong way to what I’d said.

He excused himself and I watched him take Jess aside. I didn’t hear what they said, but Jess kept looking at me while Sam talked, and she looked shocked. Then she looked at Cas, and she looked worried. And not even a regular kind of worried, I mean like girl-raised-in-Catholic-school-observing-a-sin kind of worried.

They went outside for a ‘walk’, but they didn’t go very far. Then Charlie and Benny went out too and Cas and me were the only ones left inside. We went out to the fire pit, and he and I cooked the food together. I explained to Cas what I told Sam, and Cas said “oh, that’s why everyone is giving us sidelong looks from the house.” I hadn’t been able to see, but he’d seen, and he thought it was suspicious.

We called the rest of them to get their food, and we all sat beside the fire. They said thank you. It’s been kinda quiet since then.

I’ve never felt so many emotions all at once. I barely know what to do with my hands now, so I’m more than grateful that Cas isn’t letting me go. Hands aside – I don’t know what to do, period. I’m confused and upset and I just want someone to say _something_.

I’ll stop writing now. Maybe the slight change might inspire someone to speak.

⚓

Dean closed up his journal with the pen inside, and he rested it on his crossed legs, one hand on top of its roughened leather cover. He looked up; Charlie was still staring, eyes on Dean while she chewed her food.

Dean didn’t know what Charlie was thinking, but he hoped dearly that she had some support for him and Cas buried in her somewhere. He parted his lips and mouthed to her, _Say something._

Charlie saw him. She shrugged theatrically, then lowered her eyes. “Food’s really good,” she said. “It’s so much better eating dinner on dry land.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Jessica said, nodding. “It’s hard for me to keep food down anyway, I don’t need seasickness interfering.”

Dean forced a quick smile when Jessica glanced in his direction. But then she averted her eyes, and the circle went quiet again.

Dean shut his eyes in response. A few hours ago he’d been hoping that today’s events weren’t a dream, and now he was hoping the exact opposite. He wanted to wake up and have this be a nightmare, so he could roll closer to Castiel and have him stroke his hair until Dean felt calm and comfortable.

Alas, the present moments felt as real as the moment Dean saw Sam’s tiny figure in the distance. There was no escape.

Benny cleared his throat. “You got any more of them green beans, brother?” he asked Castiel.

“No, they’re all gone,” Castiel said softly. The fire crackled, and sizzled, then carried on burning steadily, in a bright and overwhelming orange. Castiel leaned left and poked at the flames with a stick.

Benny’s eyes went to Dean. They sat opposite in the circle, and from where Dean was, he could see Benny’s bare feet resting on the sand like he was as comfortable on a beach as Dean and Castiel.

“Was some real nice cooking, there,” Benny said.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “It’s the sea salt, it brings out the flavour.”

Benny nodded. The circle went silent once more. Dean breathed out through narrowed lips.

“So, um,” Sam said, putting down his empty plate on the sand. “H- How was the wedding?”

Dean’s entire body flooded with a cool and satisfying relief. It must’ve taken Sam a terrific amount of energy to work up the courage to ask that. Dean couldn’t begin to imagine how many ideals and social mores Sam had overthrown just by asking. Genuine feeling overtook Dean; he could barely believe Sam loved him _that much_ , so much that he had no trace of anger or disapproval on his face as he asked.

“Good,” Dean breathed out, and a grin followed. “The sheep came to watch. We caught ourselves a chicken to use as a ringbearer.”

Jessica, who had seemed unsettled until that point, parted her lips and grinned until she laughed, a hand shooting up to cover her mouth. Dean winked at her, rubbing at Castiel’s hand. The group tittered along with Jessica, all a little nervous, but all relieved that the tension had been lifted by Dean’s half-true joke. The rest of Dean’s anxiety disappeared like the sea breeze had simply swept it away.

“So, did you kiss?” Charlie leaned forward, unmistakably interested. Dean wondered how long she’d been waiting to ask.

Castiel smiled, and he was the one who answered. “We can kiss right now, if you’d allow it.” He looked over at Sam as he spoke.

Sam fidgeted. “Why are you looking at me? I can’t exactly stop you.”

Castiel then looked at Benny.

Benny raised his hands. “Hey, don’t you look at me as if I had somethin’ against the two of you. You go ahead and smooch your beloved jungle boy any way you like.”

“Well,” Sam interrupted, “not _any_ way.” He covered Jessica’s belly with a hand. “My unborn baby is present.” Jessica only batted him away, and Sam chuckled.

Dean found himself laughing and leaning closer as Castiel went and gave him a big kiss on his cheek, hands around his jaw to hold him steady. It tickled, and prickled, and Castiel was definitely smiling.

Dean chuckled happily as Castiel pulled back. Dean turned to gaze at his husband with a delighted feeling in his belly, all twisty and tingly. Castiel stared like he always did, blue eyes twinkling with silver reflected by the moon as it rose, a shimmer of light on the horizon. Dean loved the way Cas looked at him so much that he leaned in and kissed him again, this time on the lips. They kissed slowly, and for a long time, only the very tip of Castiel’s tongue teasing against Dean’s lips.

Dean nosed away first, feeling a shiver spill down his spine, all of him electrified by the sensation Castiel’s kisses gave him. On top of that, he felt enlivened by the new experience of kissing in front of other people. No secrets.

“ _Wow_ , that felt great,” Dean whispered. He hummed a pleased note as Castiel pecked his swollen lips again.

Dean’s eyes darted to his family, and he bit his lip nervously. They all looked stunned, by varying degrees, but thankfully none of them looked horrified or angry.

Charlie was the first to speak; she shielded her mouth from Jessica and Sam with the back of her hand and whispered loudly to Dean, “This whole man-plus-other-man thing will take them a bit of getting used to.” She smiled, letting her hand fall. Gently, but not whispering this time, she added, “Don’t feel like you have to hide, okay? You’re allowed to love your pirate captain as proudly as you like.”

Dean stared. “Um. Look, not that I’m complaining, but... why are you so accepting? Why aren’t you trying to tell us we’re going to Hell, or at the very least that we oughta be ashamed of ourselves?”

Sam laughed – _really_ laughed. Jessica shushed him, then turned to Dean with a smile on her face. “We’ve had months to get used to the idea,” she said. Her eyes flicked to Castiel, then back to Dean. “You aren’t the only ones in the world like you.”

Dean was utterly baffled. “What? Who else is like us?”

“Uhhh,” Charlie said, drawing Dean and Castiel’s attention. She gave a self-conscious smile. “That would be me.”

Dean exhaled, a smirk already growing. “No. No _way_.”

“Trust me,” Benny said, one eyebrow crooked. “You get stuck on a boat with three other people for so long with nothing to talk about, you start to talk about the things no-one ought talk about.”

“And when every crewmember is needed,” Jessica went on, looking fondly at Charlie, “you either accept who you’re with, or you accept you’re dooming the whole crew. Besides, the more we talked about it, the less we argued.”

“They got a handle on the idea eventually,” Charlie smiled. She leaned back on her hands, beaming over at Dean. “Gotta say, though, there’s no way any of us could’ve predicted _you_ would be the same as me. We always thought you liked women.”

“I do,” Dean said, squeezing Castiel’s hand. “I do still like women.”

Sam leaned forward. “So Cas is an exception?”

“No, it’s—” Dean checked with Castiel, making sure he wasn’t offended. Oh, why did Dean even worry? Castiel looked incredibly amused. Dean exhaled, looking back to Sam. “It’s men and women. Both. But especially Cas.”

While Benny tutted and muttered under his breath, Sam slowly raised his eyebrows. Jessica just smiled to herself, perhaps a little secretively.

Dean felt Castiel bring his hand closer, fingers sliding together. Dean glanced at him, then at Sam. “I have a question, though,” Dean started. “If you’re so open to all this, Sam, when I told you that me and Cas got married, why did you think I was kidding?”

Sam shrugged. “At the time it seemed viable. I guess I needed a bit more proof before I could process it?” He blinked, thinking about what he’d just said. “You know what? I think I was _destined_ to be a lawyer.”

“Your kiss did just fine for proof,” Jessica said, patting at Sam’s arm. “Just fine.” She smiled.

Dean puffed out a huge breath. “Wow.”

Castiel tugged on his hand. In a quiet, almost whispering voice, he uttered against Dean’s cheek, “You told me your family was incredible, Dean, but I... I never realised until now how much you really meant it.”

Dean peered at him, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “Oh, I meant it, all right.” He kissed Castiel once more, gently, on his nose. “They’re your family now too, you lucky sonofabitch.”

Castiel glanced at Jessica, then Charlie, then Sam, curious.

Charlie grinned, and Jessica reached for Castiel’s hand.

“You’ll do,” Sam said. He nodded firmly. “Dean loves you, so you can’t be all bad.”

Castiel chuckled, head down. He blushed at the compliment and the truth behind it, and of course the sight made Dean fall even deeper in love.

It may have been true that every Winchester boy needed someone like Castiel or Jessica to hold their fears steady, someone to soothe them and command them, to make their heart beat the right way – but at that moment, Dean realised maybe every Castiel needed a Dean, the way every furious, angry storm ought to have a ship to save from capsizing. Without a ship to focus and calm them, that storm might just rage forever. Every storm needed someone like them, but different in so many other ways. Someone to teach them tenderness.

Dean and Castiel held hands amongst a circle of their closest family. The conversation went on, the fire burned bright. They laughed, and they felt at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arrrr ya ready for the last chapter? (This is the part where you say " _Aye, aye, captain!_ " and read on...)


	7. Chapter 7

_Six Months Later_

Castiel groaned, rocking forward until his chest was flush with Dean’s, their body heat scalding each other, Dean’s sweat-slick back arching up into Castiel’s chest. Breath seared hot over Dean’s shoulders, kisses fluttering on his skin. Castiel made it his mission to kiss every freckle when they were in this position; Dean figured he had another thirty kisses to go.

Dean gasped, rolling his hips back. “Go deeper,” he murmured. “Just slow. C’mon.”

“Can’t,” Castiel whispered back, nosing at the nape of Dean’s neck. “I’ll moan and wake the baby.”

“Do it, you ass,” Dean growled, rolling his eyes even though his eyelids were closed. “Keep your mouth shut.”

Dean then rested his cheek against the warm mattress and groaned again: a brilliant, _full_ feeling descended from his belly all the way to his toes, tingling in his fingers too. “Caaaas,” he purred, squirming as Castiel rocked slow, filling him deeply and slipping about in the same position, barely moving but for a back-and-forth inch of rhythmic thrusts.

Castiel kissed Dean’s neck and shoulders over and over, murmuring upon each kiss. “Two hundred ‘n five. Two hundred ‘n six,” he hummed, before groaning against Dean’s skin.

Dean let Castiel ease them both closer to the mattress, so Dean’s legs spread out further and his erection rubbed on the sheets, all his weight on his knees as the rest of him stretched forward, hands way out in front of him to grip the bamboo at the head of the ceiling-suspended mattress.

They were half-covered by their pirate-flag blanket, but if anyone were to climb the ladder to ask why they were making so much noise at _dawn_ , that person would see more than they bargained for. So Dean and Cas had to stay quiet. With Jessica and Charlie sharing the house, these days privacy was harder to come by. Night-time seemed like the only time they could be alone.

“Ah... _Ah_ ,” Castiel grunted, his breath huffing from his nose, one hand clenching around Dean’s wrist, one taking him more firmly around the waist. “Oh, Dean— Fuck. Oh, fuck.”

“That’s it, Cas,” Dean whispered. “That’s it, you’re doing good. You’re doing so good.”

“Eeaauuh,” Castiel whined, shivering, thrusting harder for a few moments. “Dean, I wanna— I’m almost—”

“Shh, shhhh,” Dean hushed him hurriedly. “Don’t moan. Keep it down, you got this. You got this, Cas.”

“It’s _so_ good. Dean, you’re so hot, you feel incredible, I can’t—”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, don’t let go. Kiss me, keep going. Don’t stop. Oh, _God_ , don’t stop—”

Castiel trembled, panting over Dean’s shoulder. He whined, tightening his grip, fucking Dean down into the mattress with desperate humps. “Dean.... _Dean_...!”

“Easy. _Easy_. Don’t lose it, Cas.”

Castiel’s will broke; he cried out, moaning deeply – he tried so hard to stifle the noise, moaning into Dean’s neck and shoving his head down against the bed, but Dean could feel Cas releasing inside him, hot and wet, filling him so much it leaked out, trickling down his inner thigh. Cas could never keep quiet when he came.

Castiel shivered; his weight was all on Dean now, and they lay together with Cas on top, all wrapped up in the cover of their black flag. Castiel kissed the last of Dean’s freckles, the remains of tiny moans still bursting from his mouth as the aftershocks of his orgasm rode through him.

Castiel sighed slowly, fingers roaming through Dean’s hair. “You’re still winning,” he said affectionately, kissing Dean’s ear, then his cheek as Dean rolled his chin so they could make eye contact. “I can never hold my noises in like you can.”

“Winning aside,” Dean smirked, “I _love_ the noises you make.”

Their hot breath mingled, and Castiel smiled. Dean could tell his lips were a plush red, even in the grainy blue light of dawn.

Dean gave Castiel a quick kiss, then wriggled to change position. “Flip over,” he mumbled. “My turn now.” Castiel let him up, and Dean rolled over and lay on his back, legs apart. He opened his mouth so Castiel could kiss him, and Dean slid his hands to twist through Castiel’s hair, enjoying the tingle of slightly sweaty locks sliding between his fingers.

Castiel hummed a sweet note into Dean’s mouth, lapping at his swollen lips. He toyed with Dean’s oversensitivity in a gentle but sensually overwhelming tease, dragging the tip of his tongue over the seam of Dean’s lips, sending Dean into a red-hot fever in an instant, pulling an unexpected crackle of pleasure from his throat.

Castiel grinned. “Oh, you’re noisy today. Will you stay quiet this time?”

“I – I’ll do my best, Captain,” Dean uttered, biting his lower lip. He let his lip slide free, releasing a breath, eyes blinking slow. “I’ll never know until you start, though.”

Castiel kissed him on the lips once more, then kissed his chin, a soft and tender press against Dean’s scruffy facial hair. Castiel ran his tongue down the ridge of Dean’s throat; Dean tipped his head back and smiled, breath hitching.

Dean held Castiel’s head and neck as Castiel drew a line of kisses between Dean’s throat and heart, some wet, some soft and slow, some with a bite or a nick of passing teeth. Dean gasped hugely, filling his lungs all at once as Castiel bit his stiff nipple, sending the fierce sensation of flame out in a burst under Dean’s skin, striking lightning in his toes, curling them.

“Mmhn,” Dean whimpered, hips squirming to rub his erection against Castiel’s belly. “Hurry up, hurry up,” he muttered, unable to stop his hips turning, or his spine arching up off the covers. Castiel sucked and nibbled at Dean’s nipple over and over, pulling it with his lips and lapping at it with a sweet swipe of his tongue. “Fuck, Cas, please hurry up, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna...”

“Hushhh,” Castiel said, eyes dark as he looked up. Dean peered back, pleading with his heavy gaze. Castiel shook his head gently. “You’re not going to come yet, Dean. Let it settle. Give it a few seconds and tell me when you’re ready.”

Dean shivered, riding out the waves of sensuous heat between his legs, waiting for the ache to fade. It soon dulled to a mere throb of hunger and need, and Dean let free a caught breath all at once, then nodded shakily.

“Good,” Castiel said, a proud smile quirking one side of his lips. He lifted up and hovered over Dean’s face for a moment, kissing him once. He then returned to lavishing attention on Dean’s nipples; his tongue dragged over one while fingers played with the other. Dean shuddered and bit his lip, shutting his eyes.

Castiel left Dean’s nipples to sting with sensation and a chill, moving down to kiss Dean’s stomach, nose digging into the space, tongue lashing upward in wet stripes, as if Castiel meant to groom Dean’s pubic hair as he got closer and closer to Dean’s groin.

Castiel’s breath eased along the straining underside of Dean’s erection, heated and delicious. His tongue lapped teasingly at the flesh, making Dean gasp in earnest, eyes squeezing shut, fingers tangling into Castiel’s hair.

Castiel moaned encouragingly, kissing the swollen head of Dean’s penis, then – in one singular gulp – sank his mouth down around it, heat and velvety sensation surrounding Dean at once. Dean arched his back off the bed, one hand flying to his mouth to hold back any noises after a hard and ragged groan, which he had no power to stop. His legs trembled, his hips pushing upward to make Castiel take more of him, and take him deep.

“Mnh,” Castiel grunted, eyes closed as his head bobbed in place, both hands massaging Dean’s inner thighs. Dean breathed furiously, puffing like a bull as he bit down on his plumped lip. He perked his head up so he could watch Castiel work, and work he did: his lips were perfectly enclosed around the meat of Dean’s sex, saliva slicking his way as he licked and slurped in a entirely obscene way.

“Cas,” Dean breathed, gripping the back of Castiel’s head. “F-Fuck, Cas. Just like that. Oh, just like— _Yes_.” Breath burst from his throat and his head rolled back, all his muscles relaxing, then tensing up. “Shit. Oauhhh...”

Castiel’s rhythm faltered, his jaw struggling to maintain its position. His mouth pulled away from Dean’s erection with a wet, sloppy sound. Dean was kept from feeling the brutal snap of cold air since Castiel kept his tongue in contact, the tip of it still wriggling and lapping at Dean’s slit.

“Oohufuck. _Fuck_ ,” Dean said, feeling his legs turn weak and his hips jar upwards, seeking out more of that blissful heat, more of that utterly _sinful_ slickness. “More,” he demanded, trying in vain to rub himself against Castiel’s face.

Castiel chuckled, pushing Dean’s hips back down to the bed. “What would you like?” He kissed Dean’s inner thigh, holding his eyes in the pre-dawn light. Then he kissed Dean’s thigh again, an inch closer to his scrotum. “What else would you have me lick, Dean?”

Dean grinned up at the ceiling, eyes roaming across the rafters in a dazed, rather distracted way. “Between my legs,” he whispered.

“You always pick that,” Castiel smirked.

“C’mon,” Dean urged, desperation making him tremble. “I-It’s my favourite.”

Castiel gazed at him with a dirty smile pulling at his lips. He never did take much convincing: already he’d begun to lower his head, sinking into the partition of Dean’s legs, mouth open by the seam of his lips to slide his tongue against Dean’s skin.

But, no, he couldn’t do it without a tease first: he lifted himself back up, surging forward over Dean’s belly. He ignored the straining, aching thickness of Dean’s erection for the moment, and instead focused on the rise of Dean’s hipbones, nipping with his teeth and making Dean buck.

“Shit— _Auh_ , Cas!”

“Be still,” Castiel said, hands grabbing Dean’s hips to steady him. “Don’t come. And don’t make a noise, I’m not done with you yet.”

“I won’t. I – I won’t,” Dean repeated, then mouthed his promise one last time, silent. He was going to get through this, and Cas would make it good for him, because he always did – this morning was no different.

Castiel kissed Dean’s hips again, rubbing his soft facial fuzz against the most sensitive skin there, making Dean’s whole body sing. Dean screwed his hands into Castiel’s hair, tugging, holding him for security or reassurance or bravery, he didn’t know which. Castiel’s mouth – hot, almost too hot – moved to worship the dip at the very top of Dean’s inner thigh, where mango pulp always ended up collecting, warm and mushy.

Castiel licked long and slow there, wiping up the mess with one swipe. Dean arched his back and purred, a long but thankfully quiet note unfolding from the back of his throat. Castiel then licked the other thigh, but his tongue changed direction halfway and he gave Dean a little treat; he dug his tongue into the soft flesh of Dean’s taint, sweeping a firm massage upward to cup Dean’s testicles.

“ _Oh_ , Cas,” Dean breathed. “Oh, that’s good, that’s good, that’s so gouhhh—”

Castiel took Dean’s scrotum into his mouth and sucked, tongue working to massage the soft skin, saliva keeping the movements slick and wet and _so fucking hot_...

Dean lifted his head off the bed and looked down between his legs, moaning but biting his lip so his pleasured noises wouldn’t escape. In the pale pink light from the open shutters, he saw Castiel’s nose nudging against the base of Dean’s erection, eyes shut in his blissful concentration, hair in a mess of dark locks that stuck up all over the place. His face shone with liquid – come and saliva and mango pulp – and he was all the more beautiful for it.

“Cas,” Dean whispered. He wanted to see Castiel’s eyes.

Castiel opened his eyes and met Dean’s, and they both smiled as they stared. Castiel’s eyes were dark and lustful, halfway closed, the way they always were when he and Dean were intimate. Dean felt pre-ejaculate seeping out of his slit, but he couldn’t move his eyes away from Castiel’s. His gaze was mesmerising.

Castiel slid his tongue down... down – he moved so low there was only one thing in store for Dean; Dean clenched his buttocks in excitement, then forced himself to relax.

He held Castiel’s gaze and moaned aloud as Castiel sank his tongue inside, sleek and insanely hot; his tongue followed where his erection had been only minutes before, no doubt tasting his own come, as well as the fruit they used to slick their way to painlessness. He wriggled about in the tight, _tight_ space, making Dean tingle all over, all the while letting helpless noises of enjoyment break free. Castiel didn’t scold Dean; Dean knew he was being too loud but he couldn’t help it.

He flopped back to the bed, dizzy in the head, and lifted up on the soles of his feet, hips off the mattress as his shoulders took more of his weight. Castiel gripped Dean around each thigh and used his grip to keep Dean steady as he penetrated him with his tongue, over and over. Dean hissed in pleasure, fingers clenching and unclenching on nothing. The blanket had slid away at some point; they were totally exposed to the room, stark naked, Dean’s erection curving up to drool on his stomach. He tried to touch himself with a hand but he was too slippery; the instant his hand slid away, Castiel took over, putting a firm grip around Dean’s erection— Oh _fuck_.

Dean came hard, harder than he’d expected.

“AuhhCaass – oh no—” Dean knew he was going to scream; he pulled away from Castiel and rolled onto his front, coming in hot spurts on the sheets as he moaned _so loudly_ , grunting and nearly sobbing into the mattress. His feet pushed into the bed, and his legs straightened as his face and shoulders took half his weight. Dean gasped mid-orgasm as Castiel shoved his legs apart and started licking him again, a mad rush of rough swipes and hard stabs of his tongue. Dean came and came, and then realised he wasn’t coming any more, he was simply _blazing_ with pleasure, overcome by sensations because Castiel wasn’t stopping.

“Cas... Cas, it— It’s over, I’m... Agghh, ffffuhh...”

Castiel laughed, nosing at Dean’s buttocks, kissing his tailbone. “Don’t tell me you can’t take it any more,” he whispered, words like a tiny summer storm across the skin of Dean’s lower back.

Dean whimpered, collapsing into a shivering mess of limbs, curled up with his back to Castiel. “I cah... I can’t...”

Castiel hummed another laugh, curling close and taking Dean into a close embrace. He kissed his shoulders, finishing off his count of those last freckles. “Go to sleep,” he said, stroking Dean’s hair. “We need to be up in a few hours.”

“Mh,” Dean said, already half gone. He only vaguely remembered what they had planned today. He was sure it was significant, but as sleep (and Castiel) draped themselves over him, everything but warmth and comfort slipped his mind...

⚓

“Hey! You up there! Are you two coming down today, or what?”

Charlie’s shout startled Dean from sleep for the fifth time in probably the last hour, but this time Dean actually stayed awake for more than ten seconds. Castiel stirred at his back, groaning slowly as he stretched.

“We’ll be there,” Castiel murmured, too quietly for Charlie to hear.

Dean pushed himself up to sitting and rolled a sore shoulder, glancing blearily towards the trap door. Late morning light streamed in through the window ahead, painting golden squares on the bamboo floor, livening every one of the bright colours in the rug Jessica had made them as a belated wedding gift.

Charlie rattled the ladder that led to their upstairs room. “Is it safe to come up? Come _on_ , you’re going to miss Sam and Benny!”

“We’re awake!” Dean shouted. “Don’t come up!”

“Ahh, they’re _awake_!” Charlie huffed in exasperation, moving away from the ladder. Dean heard her chatting to Jessica, and he sighed.

He looked between his legs and saw all the half-faded marks from his and Castiel’s romp that morning, little bite marks on Dean’s hips and crusty residue of fruit and ejaculate on his stomach and thighs. Dean smacked his lips, tasting a dense sourness that he wanted to wash away as soon as possible. After what he’d done between Dean’s legs, Castiel’s mouth could only taste worse, however – he was already out of bed, leaning his torso out of the window so he could spit.

“Sleep well?” Dean asked, smirking.

“Too well,” Castiel said, an expression of distaste on his face as he turned away from the window. He looked a wreck too; his hair was messier than usual, and his face was speckled in places. “I swear to Deirdre, I’ve never needed a wash more than I need a wash right now.”

“No time for that,” Dean said, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “Gotta go watch the boat dock.”

“Oh, yes,” Castiel said, smiling. He reached for his clothes and started pulling things on with sloppy, exhausted movements. “I can’t believe it’s been four months already.”

“Speak for yourself,” Dean scoffed. “I’ve missed them. Their little boat better not have capsized on the way there, or the way back. I even missed _Benny._ ” Dean started pulling his clothes on without even leaving the bed, vest first. He lifted his hips off the floating mattress like he’d done at dawn, pulling his breeches on, then he lay down and hid the bulge of his half-stiff penis neatly under his dangling vest front.

Castiel helped Dean up, and they neatened each other’s clothes so they’d be presentable.

Castiel sighed. “I’d kiss you good morning, but right now I wouldn’t even kiss myself good morning.” Dean smirked, and Castiel gestured to the trap door. “Come on, let’s go.”

They went one-after-the-other down the ladder onto the lower floor, only to find there was nobody was around.

“Shit, did we miss them?” Dean asked, looking from Jessica’s made-up bed by the door to the baby crib, both of which were empty.

“They’ll be at the dock,” Castiel said. He took Dean’s hand and led him into the blinding sunlight, and both of them squinted against the glare. The tide was halfway in. If Benny and Sam’s boat was going to dock on time, there wasn’t long to wait.

Dean and Castiel made a quick detour to the outhouse, since it was no fun running with a full bladder, and then they zig-zagged their way to the dock and ran headlong into the sea to wash off. Dean scrubbed Castiel’s face clean with his hands and scoops of salt water, then Castiel did the same for Dean. They washed their mouths out and felt a lot better – except then Castiel decided it was a good time to tickle Dean.

Dean cackled until he folded over forwards with Castiel’s fingers still wiggling against his belly, Dean gripping Castiel’s clothes and stretching them down until both men fell with a plop into the water.

Castiel shoved Dean back towards land, and Dean was still laughing as he staggered onto the beach, like the echoes of Castiel’s tickling fingers still danced over his skin.

Castiel took Dean’s hand again and led him to the dock, sending fond, slightly smug smiles in Dean’s direction every few seconds. Dean kept giggling until he finally regained his ability to stand straight without flinching, and by that time, they had reached the dock.

The dock was a bamboo creation, same as everything else they’d built on Deirdre. It was partially a pier, partially a man-made port. The sand on the beach had been dug back into a rectangle, and the empty space was lined with upright walls of bamboo, so the sea filled it and made a sort of three-sided swimming pool, with the fourth side opening out to the ocean. If everything went according to plan today, by the evening the rowing boat would be joined by Benny’s bigger boat, and the whole family would be together again for the first time in a whole season.

“Sorry we’re late,” Castiel said, standing himself on the thick pier beside Jessica.

“That’s all right,” Jessica said, kissing baby Mary’s forehead. “No sails on the horizon yet. You haven’t missed anything.”

Dean looked out hopefully at the deep blue sea ahead, but he saw no sails either. He felt agitation start to brew up inside him. “What if they didn’t make it?”

“They’ll make it,” Castiel said. He looked over at Charlie, who nodded firmly.

Dean breathed out through narrowed lips, and went to sit himself at the end of the dock, feet dangling off the end. “If they don’t make it, I’m gonna chase them down and toss them overboard myself.”

“Dean!” Charlie tutted.

“Well, I would! Sam promised me he’d come back in one piece. Off he goes, leaving you and Charlie and me and Cas by ourselves, with a little baby to look after...” Dean looked over his shoulder, gazing affectionately at his family. He sighed. “When Sam heard I was shipwrecked, he had no proof I wasn’t dead for a _year_. Someone could tell me Benny’s boat went down while he and Sam headed back to the mainland, but I wouldn’t give up on _them_ until I had proof, either. If Sam’s not back when he says he’ll be back—”

“You’ll take your tiny fishing boat out, alone, and spend a year searching for him?” Charlie asked, incredulously.

“No,” Dean said. He shook his head, still watching Jessica sway with her baby in her arms. “No, I’d wait here with you. No way I’d abandon any one of you. I have a responsibility to you, to this island. To Mary. But I’d never lose hope that Sam was still out there.” Dean tipped his head. “Benny too.”

Jessica smiled, resting her cheek on her daughter’s fluffy hair, her long, tattered dress skimming the pier with every sway.

Charlie gasped all of a sudden. “Is that—?”

Dean stood up, eagerly scanning the view. Castiel stood at his side, both hands over his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun.

“There,” Castiel said, excitement lightening his deep voice. His arm lifted, pointing to a white dot in the distance, coming from the north-west. Dean squinted, but he wasn’t sure if what he was looking at was real. Heat on the sea’s surface made the white dot shimmer and vanish for seconds at a time, and the soft swell of the water covered it, revealed it, then covered it again.

It was some minutes before Dean was convinced. “It is,” he said, breathless. “It is, it’s a boat!”

Jessica jumped for joy, clutching Mary closer. “It’s Sam! Yeah, baby, your papa’s coming home! He’s bringing books and food and so many stories to tell us!”

Dean took Castiel hand and danced with him, skipping and singing. Four months without a word, and finally, on the very day Sam and Benny were meant to arrive, here they were. Only Sam Winchester could stick to such a rigorous timetable, no care given to those variable elements that could’ve thrown them days, or even weeks off course.

Over the following minutes, the white dot became larger, and larger, and soon there was no doubt: the boat was headed for Dierdre. Dean rushed off to write in his journal, inspired by the excitement of Sam coming home, while Castiel went to fix the newcomers a snack.

Both of them returned to the dock at the same time, Castiel with a tray in his hands, Dean pinching things off the tray “just to test they’re edible”.

Jessica hurried back to Dean and Castiel, arms empty. Dean looked ahead and saw Mary was held in Charlie’s arms, still waiting on the pier. He looked back to Jessica, noticing how unsettled she seemed.

“What is it, what’s wrong?” Dean asked, taking her elbows in gentle hands.

“The boat,” she said. “It’s not Benny’s fishing boat. It’s so much bigger.”

Dean’s heart felt like it toppled right out of his chest. “Wh— Whose is it, then?”

“It’s the _Echelon_ ,” Jessica said, her voice hollowed with astonishment.

Dean shot Castiel a look of utter confusion. Castiel looked back, his lips parted and his brow furrowed. With a determined tightening of his jaw, Castiel reached over and took Dean by the hand, then passed his tray of sandwiches to Jessica.

Jessica took one sandwich and bit into it, watching Dean and Castiel march past with the postures of retired soldiers at a wartime reunion: stern expressions, upright walks, hands holding tight around each other.

The _Echelon_ swung around and weighed anchor when it was still several hundred feet from shore. Dean and Castiel stood waiting, the grip of their joined hands never faltering. Jessica came to Dean’s side; Dean looked to his left and met her eyes, and she nodded. Whoever came ashore would know of Sam and Benny’s fate: dead, missing, or simply late. The Winchester family would face the news together. Jessica took Dean’s hand, and together they looked forward at the ship.

With baby Mary on her hip, Charlie stood alongside Castiel. Castiel looked to his right, and without a word, he held out his hand for Charlie to take. She gripped him reassuringly, a resolve in her eyes that let Castiel know that whatever happened next, she’d stay strong and help keep everyone else the same way.

The four of them (and Mary) watched as a rowing boat was deployed from the side of the _Echelon_ , someone inside pulling the rope that controlled the pulleys.

“If only we had a telescope,” Jessica muttered.

“Sam took the only one,” Dean replied, squeezing her hand. “Whoever the crew of this ship turns out to be, I’m sure they’re friendly. The people I left on the _Echelon_ were decent men. I mean, apart from leaving me behind, and all. The captain was a friend of mine.”

The rowing boat was angled towards the island, and the rowers – there were three – worked synchronously to bring the boat into dock.

The closer they came, the clearer it became that the rowers were intent on ignoring the dock and the pier, instead rowing in towards the nearby beach.

“Over that way, nearer the house,” Castiel said. “Let’s go!”

Castiel, Dean, Jessica and Charlie ran together from the pier, rushing to get to the sandy beach before the landing party did. Dean’s head was full of questions, unsure who was coming ashore. If it really was Sam, why the hell did he arrive on Dean’s old ship?

They reached the beach in time. Dean panted, hands over his knees. His eyes watched the little rowboat bump up over the choppy waves and slosh onto the sand, banking at an angle. Someone got out: a man wearing brown, with a bushy grey beard.

“That’s not Benny, is it?” Charlie asked, nervousness bleeding into her words.

Then another man got out, and Dean knew instantly that he had nothing to worry about. Dean slumped on his weakened knees, and staggered forward. “Sammy,” he breathed.

Sam walked closer, arms out and a grin on his face. “Dean!” he shouted, his voice quiet under the noise of the gushing sea. “Jessica!” He waved his arms widely, bursting with happiness as Dean and Jessica ran towards him at full speed, kicking up sand and seashells under their bare feet.

“Sam!” Dean cried, hauling Sam into his arms. He grasped his brother with a fierce hug, shaking him with his entire weight. “You made it.”

When Dean lifted his face from Sam’s shoulder, he saw Jessica and Sam were lip-locked, both of their eyes crinkled with happiness.

Dean grinned, stepping back.

He looked at the other men from the boat: the man he’d seen with the beard was not Benny, but Bobby Singer.

“Uncle Bobby!” Charlie yelled, handing the baby to Castiel, then flinging herself into Bobby’s side to hug him. “You came! You came!”

“Yeah, I came. All right, all right, get offa me,” Bobby grumbled, prying Charlie’s arms off his shoulders. He was beaming though, his bristly face wrinkled up in a smile. “Good to see ya, girl.”

Dean lumbered forward and gave Bobby a good clap on the shoulder. They couldn’t speak: Dean simply held his eye and sagged in relief, pushing his forehead against Bobby’s, eyes closed.

“Thank you for coming,” Dean managed, breaking away, eyes filled with tears. “Welcome to Dierdre.”

He held out his arms, and the island gave its own welcome. The trees shifted, the sand flew up in a wind-caught salute, and a flock of colourful birds shrieked melodiously as they fluttered out of the forest. A single monkey jabbered some unintelligible insult from near the house, watching the newcomers and cursing the lot of them.

Castiel slowly approached Bobby, his arms curled gently around baby Mary. Mary babbled interestedly, and Castiel chuckled when she reached out her chubby hand to touch Bobby’s beard.

“You must be Mary,” the old man said, his rough voice softened by love. “You look so much like your Mama.” He offered the baby one finger, and Mary took it by the tip, squeezing it with her strong fingers.

Jessica laughed warmly, taking her daughter into her own arms. But Mary squealed, reaching for Bobby instead.

“Oh, go on, then,” Jessica said, handing her baby over. Bobby chuckled, taking the bundle and cradling her in his arms. Mary blew bubbling spit at him, and Bobby wiped it up with his grubby sleeve.

While everyone stood to watch the baby greet her new great-uncle, Dean and Castiel’s hands slipped together. Bobby noticed right away, and he looked up at Dean. “So,” he said. His eyes moved to Castiel, and he nodded once. “Bobby Singer, how do you do.”

“How do you do,” Castiel replied, smiling slightly.

Bobby tossed a look over at Sam, then at Benny, who hung at the back of the group next to Charlie. “This lot told me about you, Captain. Dean and his pirate friend. Didn’t believe them ‘til now.”

“It’s true,” Castiel said.

Dean rocked his shoulder against Castiel’s, smiling gently. “He’s not a pirate any more,” Dean said. “But yeah, the rest of what they told you probably ain’t far from the truth.”

Bobby grunted in a ponderous way. Then he handed Mary back to her mother, tickling her cheek so she laughed. With a smile, Uncle Bobby looked over at Dean and nodded, just once. “At least I got to meet a kid I can count as a grandchild. You and your, uh... husband there...” he cleared his throat. “Not that it means much now, but you got my blessin’.”

Dean grinned, touching Bobby’s heart before letting his hand fall back to his side. “Thanks, Bobby.”

⚓

_The Following Day_

Sam spread his brown paper map out on the dining table. “There,” he said, running his fingertip along a red dotted line, drawn over the ocean. “There’s your trade route. Three weeks’ journey in good weather.”

He patted his pile of law books, then looked up at Castiel, smiling. “My bar exam is a couple years from now. I figured I could study here and take the test there. Since the _Echelon_ and its crew are going to be making pit-stops here in future, the journey’s so much safer than it would be otherwise.”

“Orgh,” Dean said, raising a finger. He swallowed the food in his mouth then spoke: “ _Or_ , rather than study here, you could actually attend some classes. On land. With other students.”

“But then I wouldn’t be _here_ ,” Sam frowned. “My wife and child are here. Jessica’s going to have another baby in just a few months—” He looked away, smiling at the new knowledge. He turned back, thoughtful again. “Why would we move now?”

“Dean’s right,” Castiel said seriously, shaking his head at Sam, who stood at the end of the table, but now sank down to sit in his chair.

“What do you mean, he’s right?” Sam asked.

Dean and Castiel exchanged a glance, then peered back at Sam.

“Little Mary’s going to grow up on an island,” Dean said. “This place has no other children, no people except her parents and her as-yet unborn sibling. What about school? What about when she gets older and gets sick of the isolation and wants to leave, what’s she going to know about the world other than what we’ve taught her? And before all that—”

“Jessica needs doctors,” Castiel said firmly. He held Sam’s eye and didn’t let him look away. “She’s been through one pregnancy away from civilisation, and she shouldn’t be made to go through another. We delivered Mary fine but what happens if she gets sick, or Jessica gets sick? What happens if _any_ of us get sick?”

“There’s medicine on the _Echelon_ ,” Sam said.

Dean scoffed. “You’ve been back on Dierdre a day and the crew’s been living on that ship the whole time, refusing to come down and say hi. Me and Cas, we’re _outcasts_ , Sam. You don’t seem to realise how lucky you are that the crew even agreed to ferry you over here! You told me yourself, not one of those men approve of me faking my death, letting them _mourn_ me, only to find out I’ve been living on a tropical island all this time. Thank God you didn’t tell them I have a pirate for a lover; it’s not like that would win any favours.”

Sam lowered his eyes, frowning.

For a quiet moment, Dean examined the details of the _Baby Leviathan_ sculpture on the table. “Look,” he said, turning his eyes back to his brother. “That crew and all its precious medicine are going to leave eventually. They have things to do. Seeds to sell, sheep to breed. They still have a Queen to answer to. Me, I’m nothing to them any more. As far as they’re concerned, I’ve emancipated myself from their world. I’m a traitor, same as Castiel.”

Sam smirked, looking up. “I know, Dean,” he said. “As if I’d forgotten that week I spent in the library, finding a lawful reason for them not to _hang_ the both of you.”

Castiel pushed the plate of crispy carrot sticks closer to Sam so he could help himself. “We’re grateful.”

“But,” Dean said, “the fact that Deirdre is not part of the Royal Empire, and therefore free from the Queen’s ruling is _yet another_ reason you shouldn’t stay. Without law comes... well, redundancy, for you, Sam. You’d make a good lawyer. You need to be over on the mainland, proving it to your colleagues every day of the year. You need practice. You need a _future_ , for your family’s sake. This island has nothing to offer you any more.”

“There’s you,” Sam said, a pleading look in his eye.

Dean smiled. He leaned closer, running his finger along the dotted red line on the map. “Three weeks’ journey in good weather. Next time you visit, bring pie.” He shrugged. “We’ll be here.”

Sam got teary-eyed, but he pressed his lips together and nodded, eyes down. “Heh,” he breathed. He ran a hand back through his hair, looking up at his brother. “Jessica told me it would come to this eventually. This is your island, not ours. Jessica, me; Charlie, Benny, Bobby... We can stay in your house and share your food for a while, but all we’ll ever be is guests. It’s a vacation for us, it’s not our life.”

“But you’ll always be welcome here,” Castiel said. He met Sam’s eye and held it. “Always.”

Sam gave a grateful smile, and he reached to roll up the map.

⚓

The day everyone but Dean and Castiel prepared to step onto the _Echelon_ came only a week hence. Their luggage was packed in crates lent to them by the _Echelon_ ’s crew, and they had a good number of Castiel’s sculptures tucked in there too. They’d need those sculptures to make their money, because, now that Dean had been proven alive, his regular paycheck would be swiftly cancelled. Castiel had mentioned last night he felt good about donating his art; he’d been given a second chance to care for a family, since clearly his time with the _Leviathan_ ’s crew ended less than well.

A short while before the trading ship was due to depart at high tide, the family gathered on Dierdre’s dock, saying their farewells. They flew to Dean and Castiel’s sides and embraced them in turn: Jessica with baby Mary first, then Benny, then Bobby.

“You boys keep outta trouble,” Bobby said gruffly, squeezing both of Dean’s shoulders. “And put some proper clothes on, would ya? You’re making yourselves look like ingrates.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said quickly. “We’ll put your gifts to good use. Fine suits are _often_ required on deserted islands.” He said the last part with a dry smile, which Bobby returned in kind.

Bobby puffed air through his beard and skulked off, shaking his head. Dean watched him go and smirked, then turned his attention to Charlie.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Charlie sighed, trying to squeeze Dean breathless. She fell back, smiling.

“Just promise you’ll visit when you find yourself a nice wife,” Dean winked.

“I will,” Charlie grinned. She patted his cheek, then gave Castiel a hug too.

Sam hung back until last, shifting on his feet.

Dean turned to his brother and sighed, his breath releasing in a steady gust.

Sam smiled lopsidedly, and opened his arms to bring Dean close. They held tight for a few seconds, then stepped back.

“She’s all yours,” Sam said, casting a lingering look over the island. “Treat her with respect, won’t you? You’ll both be condemned to death if you ever tried to leave, so Dierdre’s the only home you’ve got, now.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Dean smiled. He reached to touch Sam’s chest, patting his heart. “Wherever you raise your family, telling them our stories, that’s home too.”

Sam chuckled, touching Dean’s hand.

He looked across at Castiel, eyes twinkling. “Look after my brother. Don’t let him do anything stupid.”

“I’ve tried that,” Castiel rolled his eyes. “My best bet is just to yell at him after he’s done it.”

Sam should’ve laughed, but all he did was smile. He gave Castiel a firm hug, then stepped back, appearing thoughtful for a moment. He then turned and made his way to the dock, where everyone else waited for him. He looked back one last time before climbing down the ladder to the boat. He stood still, staring at Dean as if to memorise his face.

Dean stared back, and saluted. “Bon voyage, little brother.”

Sam saluted back, smiled, then climbed down to join his family.

There was a minute of waving, of calling and shouted goodbyes, of laughter and perhaps a shed tear or two, but soon it really was time to go. Jessica blew one last kiss, and Benny gave a deep and respectful nod. Mary blew a bubble.

Dean watched the boat float out in unsteady motions, until at last it met the current and the oars could propel the way they were meant to when its passengers drew them through the water.

Castiel wrapped his arm around Dean’s waist, and Dean slipped his arm around Castiel’s too. Together they watched the rowing boat make its way to rendezvous with the ship waiting offshore. They said nothing until the ship had their passengers aboard, and had turned away, most of its sails dropping open to catch whatever wind drifted their way.

Even as Dean and Castiel turned away from the sea, slipping their hands together and walking with their fingers tangled, the two of them didn’t have anything in particular to talk about. It was just nice to be together, and alone.

They watched each other’s faces as they walked, trying to gauge how upset the other was now, but once Dean had wiped his face, they both found a reason to smile. Dean didn’t know what Castiel’s reason for smiling was, and Castiel didn’t know what Dean’s reason was, but somehow it didn’t matter.

They both loved this place, and they both loved each other. Even without anyone else here, this island was still full of love. In some distant reaches of the world, money was life. In other places, for some people, plants were life. Here, it was love.

Love was life, on Dierdre.

For as long as Dean and Castiel’s hearts still beat, it always would be.

⚓

Dean must’ve slipped this journal into my luggage when I wasn’t looking, so I suppose he means for me to keep it. He always seemed attached to this book while we were on Dierdre. We rarely saw him without it, especially in quiet moments – at mealtimes, or before bed. He always had so much to write about, so it’s hard to imagine he thought he didn’t have any more to say.

Perhaps he thought I’ll have more to say than he did. We’re about to start our lives over for the first time after more than a year away from home. This time we have a new baby, and another on the way. I predict there’ll never be a dull moment. Should I ever get a moment of peace, I owe it to Dean to write about what happens.

My name is Sam Winchester. My brother was a sailor who married a pirate captain on a deserted tropical island, where they still live, and will continue to live for the rest of their lives. Compared to that, I’m about as ordinary as a person can be. I’m not sure what I could possibly write that isn’t utterly mundane, but I’ll try.

The pages of this book are nowhere near full. I figure there’s still enough space in here for a lifetime of memories and stories. Thoughts and feelings. As time goes on I don’t think it’ll be just my own experiences, either. Jessica and Charlie both say they want to write a few entries someday, and I think Dean would appreciate that.

So, here’s to the future, and the unwritten pages of this journal. Here’s to love and family.

And to Dierdre. May that island prosper as it always has under Dean and Castiel’s care. May its spirit keep them safe from harm, from rain or storm or monkey, until the day that we may finally return and be a family again.

**{ _the end_ }**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge, HUGE thanks to all my betas, who all worked _exceptionally_ hard on this story for me. Hopefully it shows. ...Not gonna lie, though: I also worked pretty damn hard to get this story out of my brain, so if you, as a reader, enjoyed consuming this thing in any way at all, I'd very much appreciate a kudo or a comment so I know. I'm kind of a sucker for those lovely little hearts. ♥  
>  But seriously, dear reader, _thank you_ for making being mentally stuck on a deserted island for months totally worth it. May all your wayward demon monkeys be kept at bay, and all may your mangoes be juicy.

**Author's Note:**

> [★ Illustration post on tumblr](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/118253830610/drop-anchor-a-dean-cas-pirate-au-by-almaasiau-a)
> 
> ~~I will be updating this weekly.~~ I don't usually post in chapters, but in giving myself a deadline I intend to motivate myself to complete the last chapter. Total length will be an estimated ~~33k~~ ~~38k~~ 42k. Subscribe so you don't miss any updates! ♥


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